September Reprise
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: A year has circled around, September has come again, and this time both Hardys are in college, accompanied by Megan and Vanessa.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written around 2003. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Note: Cherylann and Max2013 asked for immediate posting of the next story after _Ides of August_. Here it is. It takes place about 6 weeks after the end of _Ides._ I hope readers continue to enjoy the story arc.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 1

He stared down at the photograph, his eyes grim and his jaw set. The object of his scrutiny appeared innocent enough – a group photo, people smiling for the camera. Everyone looking happy….

 _I don't want you to be happy! I want you to pay for what you've done – how you ruined everything! You and your…associates. Your friends. I want you – and them – to pay! And you will…you will!_

 _He reached across the counter for the paper cutter, and laid the photograph on the square-etched surface. He raised the blade and brought it down, a miniature guillotine, beheading his enemies – and then stopped, holding the slicing edge a scant inch above the paper. If I cut it off like that, he mused, I'll take MY head off, too! After a moment's thought, he rotated the photograph, and moved it beneath the blade once more._

" _Take THAT!" the spoken words came in unison with the sound of the paper cutter blade viciously slamming down. With a satisfied smile, he struck a match, and held it to the corner of the sliced-off portion, watching the paper curl and turn to smoke…._

#####

A TUESDAY IN MID-SEPTEMBER

Frank Hardy sat at a small table in the student commons of Bayport Community College, the contents of his backpack spread over the tabletop. His dark head bent over a textbook, he scanned the pages, dutifully marking sentences and paragraphs with a yellow highlighter pen. Occasionally, he looked up, glancing around the busy room, keeping an eye out for his lunch companion – who was late. With a sigh, Frank consulted his wristwatch and frowned a little. _She's never late like this…where could she be? She said she had an appointment – what kind of an appointment?_ He felt an irrational uneasiness at the continued absence.

Deeply engrossed in his reading, Frank didn't hear the light footsteps which approached him from behind, and he didn't catch the movement from the corner of his eye. The first indication he had that he was no longer alone was when warm fingers covered his eyes, and a soft, teasing voice whispered in his ear, "Guess who?"

"Megan!" Frank dropped the highlighter and reached with his right hand to grasp the ones obscuring his vision. His left remained where it was, snuggled against his chest, secure in the plaster cast and sling he had been wearing since the middle of August. "Where've you been? I was starting to get worried!"

He turned in his chair to greet his girlfriend – and froze, welcoming words dying on his lips. He blinked. "Megan?"

For the young woman who stood behind him – although undeniably Megan Wright, his girlfriend of a year – looked almost like a stranger. There were the huge blue-green eyes with the impossibly long eyelashes, true…and those amazingly beautiful eyes were alight with teasing laughter as she gazed at his incredulous face. The clothes were familiar, the scattering of tiny freckles on her nose was still there – but where was the riot of auburn curls? Instead, he saw smooth copper-golden waves hugging her cheeks, and drifting tantalizingly over her forehead in an artful swoosh.

"B-baby?" Frank managed to gulp out one word.

"I got tired of looking like Shirley Temple," Megan stated, her warm chuckle tumbling through the words. "So I had it cut and straightened and restyled….What do you think?" She whirled quickly around, showing the new hairstyle off from all angles, then turned back to Frank. And then she stopped, and the anticipatory light died from her eyes, to be replaced by apprehension and disappointment. The smile disappeared. "You don't like it," she said flatly.

Frank, flabbergasted though he might be by the sudden change in her appearance, knew trouble when he heard it. He cast a hasty prayer to the heavens for guidance.

"Like it? Of course I like it! It's just – such a change! I – I wasn't expecting it! I almost didn't recognize you." Frank quickly reached to pull out the other chair at the table. "Sit down and let me look at you!"

Slowly, Megan sat, and stared at him almost challengingly across the table, all smiles gone. The happy animation had faded from her piquant face, and Frank knew without a doubt that he had to say _exactly_ the right things just now. He rested his chin on his fist, and gave her his complete attention, surveying her carefully before he spoke. And to Frank's credit, when he _did_ speak, his words were completely honest.

"Baby, you were beautiful before…I loved those curls, even if you do say you looked like Shirley Temple. But now—" Frank smiled the warm grin which lighted his lean, handsome features. "Now…I've never seen you look more beautiful than you do right now."

She began to smile a little, although there was still a tinge of doubt in her eyes. "You're sure you like it?"

"Absolutely sure!" Frank reached out a tentative hand and cautiously touched the sleek coppery curve hugging one of her cheeks. "But now I'm afraid to touch you; I'll mess it up, or something!"

"No, you can touch it," she assured him. The smile grew a little more, and to his relief, Frank saw her single dimple appear.

Very gently, he stroked her hair, then moved his hand to the back of her head and pulled her towards him. He leaned forward over the table, and they met halfway for a lengthy kiss that Frank fervently hoped would remove any lingering doubts Megan might have about his opinion of her new hairstyle. "Love you, beautiful…" he murmured against her mouth, then resumed kissing her again.

When he finally released her and they sat back in their chairs, Megan's eyes held their customary sparkle. "Are you ready for lunch?" she asked.

"More than ready!" Frank nodded emphatically. He started to get to his feet, but she put out a forestalling hand.

"Just stay put, I'll get yours too. There's no need for you to try and juggle things with one hand when you've got a willing slave right here," she said teasingly. "I even know what you want – I'll pick it up."

"Honey, I'm hardly incapacitated you know," he began to protest mildly, but Megan shook her head decisively.

"You can spend the time clearing all this stuff off," gesturing towards the littered table, "so that we have a place to put our lunches." She leaned to quickly kiss him, and was gone, walking briskly through the mass of people, small in comparison to others in the crowd, but moving with the calm self-assurance that she nearly always displayed.

Frank dutifully kept his half of the bargain, packing his books and other paraphernalia into his backpack. With only one usable hand, it was slow going, and he had barely finished when his girlfriend returned, carrying a tray piled high with food. She was giggling as she sat down, that contagious ripple of sound that was one of the things Frank loved about her the most.

"Sean Hewitt said I looked like a fashion model," she bubbled, setting down the tray and beginning to dole out the items on it.

"You do," Frank replied, smiling. He arranged his hamburger, fries and soft drink in front of him, and waited until Megan had started on her fruit salad, before beginning to eat. "The most beautiful fashion model in the whole world."

She wrinkled her nose impudently at him. "Yeah, if I stand on a box so that I'm eight inches taller, maybe…and weighed less. And had a different face. Don't push it, Hardy; I like compliments as much as the next girl, but let's get real, here!"

"You'll probably start a mad dash for hairstylists – every girl who sees you is going to want a haircut that looks just like yours." Frank set about eating his lunch. By now, he had mastered the art of eating a hamburger with one hand. It involved using his other hand to steady the thing before he lifted it to his mouth, and meant he had to lean close to his plate, but at least he no longer dropped half of it when he attempted to take a bite.

"Well, I could believe that," she agreed complacently, and turned her attention to her lunch.

They were about halfway done when Frank, glancing around the commons, smiled and lifted his hand in a wave of welcome. Megan, whose back was to the room, raised an inquiring eyebrow, and turned to see who Frank had signaled to.

"Joe and Vanessa," Frank explained. "Our little froshes!" His grin was devilish. "Now we can practice looking old and world-weary, as befits college sophomores!"

"You can look old and world-weary if you want to," Megan responded tartly, "but it wouldn't be my first choice!"

"Kitten, you couldn't look that way, no matter what." Frank smiled warmly at her before turning to greet his brother.

Joe Hardy, at age 18 a year younger than Frank, was the antithesis of his elder brother in looks. Where Frank's hair was dark, Joe's was wavy blonde; where Frank's eyes were warm brown, Joe's were clear blue, and almost always held a mischievous twinkle. They were close in height, with Frank's six-foot-one topping Joe by an inch, but Joe was built more ruggedly, and outweighed Frank by ten or fifteen pounds of muscle.

The table was too small to comfortably seat two more people, but Joe dragged chairs close for himself and Vanessa. Vanessa dropped a large canvas bag on the floor with a resounding thud before taking a seat.

"Someone tell me why graphic art books have to weigh three tons apiece?" she demanded, heaving a tired sigh. "I'm considering bringing a little wagon to school to drag them around in!" She tossed back her long, ash-blonde hair, and looked directly at Frank and Megan for the first time. She stared, blinked, and then shrieked: "MEGAN WRIGHT! What did you do with your hair?"

Megan, blushing crimson, laughed and made shushing motions at her friend, as people all over the room turned at Vanessa's cry. "Shhh, shhh!" She glanced at Joe, who was staring at her in shock, then back at Vanessa. "What do you think?"

"It's marvelous! It's totally gorgeous! You look beautiful!" Vanessa let her voice drop to a conversational level. "Joe, isn't she gorgeous?"

Joe winked surreptitiously at Frank, then surveyed Megan thoughtfully, poker-faced.

Still pink-cheeked, she endured his appraisal as long as she could. "Well?" she demanded, at last.

"Not bad, Red – not bad at all!" he drawled, then let an affectionate grin spread across his face. "You look like a magazine ad….Yeah, it's pretty slick!"

Vanessa's hand went to her blonde locks. "I wonder how I'd look…" she mused.

Joe's eyes widened with dismay. "Babe, you wouldn't cut yours off – would you?" he implored, stretching out a hand to stroke the silky strands cascading down Vanessa's back. "I mean, Megan's was already pretty short, but yours…."

"Oh, probably not, but it's sort of fun to contemplate."

"So how're the classes going?" Frank hastily asked his brother, deciding to change the subject. Joe was looking entirely too appalled at the thought of Vanessa cutting her hair; Frank didn't want Megan's feelings to inadvertently be hurt by Joe. _I already did that myself!_

The younger Hardy made a wry face. "I now know why you spent all last year studying," he admitted, "but it's interesting, at least." Joe was taking many of the same classes Frank had taken the previous year, following his brother's lead in electing to study criminal investigation.

###

Frank and Joe were the sons of Fenton Hardy and his wife Laura. Fenton had been a highly successful police detective with the New York City police, but had resigned from the force when the boys were small, and moved to Bayport to open his own private investigative business. He was now considered to be tops in his field, and was widely sought after to handle all sorts of cases. From their early teens on, both Joe and Frank had found that following in their father's footsteps was what they wanted to do with their lives. They had solved many mysteries and captured many criminals while still in high school; now that they were in college, they felt that they were formally declaring their intent to join Fenton in his work.

Vanessa Bender, Joe's girlfriend, had chosen to major in graphic arts, with additional emphasis on computers. Nearly as tall as Joe, and slender, with wide-spaced blue-gray eyes and a quick, dry wit, Vanessa was the daughter of Andrea Bender, a computer animation artist who drew the popular TV cartoon _Rex Rover_. Vanessa's expertise with all things computer-related was well-known and often well-used, by her friends.

Megan had started out the prior year in some of the same criminal investigation classes that Frank had, but this semester she had cut back on them, and was taking things in a wider range, and trying to decide on a major. Not having as many classes together made their on-campus meetings such as this lunch date even more precious to the two of them. Now, Megan glanced at her wristwatch.

"I have to go in a few minutes, I'm afraid," she said regretfully. "I have a class at 2:00."

Frank's face fell; he had hoped to have more time with her. "I'll walk you to your class," he offered. He looked over at Joe and Vanessa. "Sorry to leave just as you got here," he apologized.

"It's okay…be like that…see if we care!" Joe pretended to sob into a giggling Vanessa's shoulder. "We're just bewildered little freshman, hoping for a kind word from you important, illustrious upperclassmen – and you go off and leave us stranded – AACCKK!" He broke off as Megan attacked his ribs with her fingertips. "Okay, okay, truce!" He squirmed out of her reach. "Jeez, you're vicious for such a little thing!"

"Trained to attack," she grinned, then reached for her bag and got to her feet. "I'm not done until 5," she said. "Anyone else around until then?"

"I am," Joe replied. "Football practice at 3:30"

"Me too," Vanessa nodded, then laughed. "Not football practice," she amended. "Classes until five."

"I had all mine this morning," Frank shook his head. "I'm done for the day." He glanced at his brother. "Try not to get roughed up too much at practice." Although nothing was evident to the casual eye now, Joe had received a concussion at the same time Frank's arm had been fractured, and even after this length of time, he was supposed to be careful. "I'll see you when you get home."

"See you in the parking lot, maybe?" Megan said to Vanessa, who nodded.

Megan and Frank took their leave, and Joe and Vanessa went to pick up their lunches.

###

Frank and Megan walked along the curving concrete pathway, heading for the Fine Arts building where Megan's Music Appreciation class was held. The diminutive redhead snuggled close to her boyfriend's side as they walked, Frank's arm draped protectively about her shoulders. When they reached their destination, they paused momentarily, and stepped away from the sidewalk.

"You'll take care…?" Frank's voice was somber. Even after nearly a year, the memory of Megan's abduction from the campus was fresh in his mind. He rarely felt secure about leaving her alone and unguarded. He had to do it, day after day, but the memories continued to haunt him, making his heart flutter and his stomach clench with irrational fear for her safety. His logical mind told him it was silly. _She_ told him it was silly. He _knew_ it was silly. But still the possibility clutched at him every time he left her alone there.

"Always." Megan had long ago stopped trying to argue him out of his apprehensions. She knew why he felt as he did. "I promise I'll watch out for myself, Frank; don't worry. And I'll try to connect with Joe and Vanessa before I leave for home." She tiptoed and pulled his face down to kiss his cheek. "You're going home now? Should I call you, later?"

"Yeah – please." He smiled down at her, and felt his fears subside a little, the little cold, creeping fingers of worry dissolving in the warmth of her loving smile. "Love the haircut, Baby," he added, and watched her eyes light with gratitude. "Now, scram, or you'll be late!"

Megan spun away and hurried towards the entrance. Frank stood and watched her go. _She's so special…so beautiful, and warm and loving. It doesn't seem like it's been only a year since I met her…._ A reminiscent smile crossed his face as he recalled the circumstances of their meeting, and the year which had followed.

Still thinking dreamy thoughts, Frank turned and retraced his steps along the cement pathway, heading towards the student parking lots.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 2

Frank was quiet at dinner that evening, letting his mind roam at will, and paying little attention to either his parents or to Joe, who seemed determined to dominate the conversation with his stories of his first few days of college, and reports on the Bayport Community College's sad excuse for a football team.

"I know junior college teams aren't supposed to be Division I caliber," he was saying now, "but I think the team Bayport High had last year could beat these guys. And the team we had Frank's senior year would mop up the floor with them!" Joe paused to pop a bite of pork chop into his mouth.

"But you're still having fun, even though the team isn't very good?" Laura raised inquiring eyebrows at her younger son.

"Oh, yeah, I'm having fun," Joe readily admitted. "We sure could use a good quarterback, though." He directed a meaningful look in Frank's direction.

Frank caught the glance and quickly reviewed the half-heard conversation in his mind. He smiled grimly and indicated his left arm. "Joe, you wouldn't get much help from a quarterback wearing a cast."

"Oh." Joe considered that a moment. "True. I sorta forgot about that."

"You're very quiet tonight, Frank," Fenton observed. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, Dad, everything's fine. Just thinking." Frank didn't supply any details, and after a moment his father smiled, shrugged, and returned his attention to his dinner.

 _Megan hasn't called yet…I wonder why? Surely nothing's happened to her – wonder if Joe saw her after practice? If I ask him, I sound like I'm checking up on her…._ Frank fretted silently, as he ate, mentally willing the telephone to ring. He knew he was being irrational. Joe had told him, more than once, that he was. His logical mind agreed, but… _sometimes logic only takes you so far….Paranoia,_ he mused. _Well, it's not paranoia if there really_ _is_ _somebody out to get you – or to get Megan._

When it did ring, Joe leaped to answer it in the kitchen. "Hardy residence…yeah, he's here. Hang on…" Abruptly, he bellowed "FRANK! It's Megan!" As Frank got up to answer the summons, he heard Joe's chuckled apology. "Sorry, Red, didn't mean to break your eardrum!"

Frank rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in resigned exasperation, but smiled, for he could hear Megan laughing through the phone as he took it from Joe's hand. _It's nice how well she and Joe get along…._ "Hey, baby," he murmured into the receiver. "I was getting worried; it's so late. I thought you'd call before now."

"You worry too much," she said sweetly. "I'm sorry it's late, but traffic was miserable once I left campus. And when I got home, Mom had dinner ready, and wanted to eat right away." He heard her chuckle, and then words evidently directed at her mother: "Yes, Mom, I'm blaming you. Don't listen; I might say something worse."

"You want to get together?" Frank inquired then. He suspected the answer was going to be no; if Megan had gotten home late, she wouldn't be likely to want to go out again this evening.

"Well, we might meet for a cup of coffee or something, later," she surprised him by saying. "I really do need to do some studying, but I should be finished in an hour or so."

Frank felt a smile spread across his face at these words. "Starbucks on 17th?" he suggested, and heard her laugh in response. They had a long history with that coffee shop.

"That would be perfect—" She broke off suddenly, and Frank heard Carolyn Wright's voice in the background. "What, Mom? What? You're kidding…turn it up, quick!"

"Megan? What is it?" he demanded. "What's wrong?" He heard a sudden babble of noise, as Mrs. Wright evidently raised the volume of the television.

"Oh, Frank, my mom's got the news on TV, and – oh, no!" Megan gasped. "Frank, there's a fire at school – the community college! On the campus! It looks like the Administration Building's burning!"

"What?" Frank yelped. "Are you serious?—Joe!" he hissed, snapping his fingers to gain his brother's attention, as Joe popped his head back into the kitchen, alerted by his brother's shout. "Quick – turn on the TV; local news – Megan says there's a fire at school!"

Joe made a dash for the family room, hastily followed by Frank, who still clutched the phone against his ear. Laura and Fenton hurried after them, and the four huddled in front of the television set.

Frank and Megan kept up their quiet conversation, murmuring back and forth as they watched the broadcast. Sounds of sirens, shouts, and the crackling of flames nearly smothered the commentator's voice at times. The fire was a serious one, by all reports, and despite the multitude of fire crews which had responded to the alarms, it looked very doubtful that any of the building would remain.

Joe was avid with impatient curiosity. "What do you suppose caused it? Accident? Faulty wiring? Arson? Maybe we could go over and see—" he ventured, glancing at Frank, still on the phone, and then his father.

Fenton gave him a stern look. "Don't even think about it. The fire crews don't need anyone else to get in their way, and I didn't hear anyone calling you to investigate it – or me, either!"

"Aw, Dad…." But Joe subsided, and glumly resumed watching the news coverage along with his family.

At last, Megan said she ought to get off the phone and study, and Frank reluctantly admitted that he did, too. Promising to call her around nine o'clock, Frank hung up the phone and departed for his room to read. Joe remained a little longer, but soon followed Frank upstairs; gone were the days when Joe Hardy never cracked a book!

Laura belatedly cleaned up the kitchen, whisking things into the dishwasher with dispatch, while Fenton continued to monitor the TV coverage of the fire. Sooner than he thought possible, he was joined by his wife, who sat down next to him on the sofa.

"Some wives," she commented dryly, "cuddle on the couch with their husbands and watch romantic movies. We, on the other hand, sit on the couch and watch the latest newsbreaks on crime in Bayport!"

Fenton gave her a somewhat guilty look. "We can turn it off…" he began.

"No, no – never let it be said that I took you away from an investigation, even if you aren't officially investigating this," she countered, laughing. "Besides, I'm interested too."

"Even so…." Fenton slipped an arm about his wife and drew her close against him. "Nothing says we can't still do the cuddling."

As they watched the scene – both live and replays of earlier footage – the Hardys chatted quietly of this and that.

"Joe doesn't seem to be bothered any by playing football," Laura commented. "I was afraid it might cause some aftereffects from his concussion."

"Tough kid," Fenton grinned. "He wasn't going to let anything short of a missing limb keep him from playing."

Laura gave him a reproving look. "You don't have to sound so pleased," she murmured.

Her husband had the grace to look slightly ashamed of himself. "Frank's last report from the doctor sounded encouraging," he said, endeavoring to switch topics. "It sounds like he won't have to wear that cast for more than three more weeks, or so."

"He'll be so happy to have it taken off," Laura said. "He's champing at the bit as it is."

"Another tough kid," Mr. Hardy repeated himself, and received another look from his wife.

"Sometimes a little too tough," she chided. "Ever wonder where they inherit that tendency from?"

"Nope; I know it came from the Whittier side," Fenton teased, and kissed her.

The ringing of the telephone interrupted them.

"Impossibly bad timing," Fenton grumbled, removing his arm from Laura's shoulders as she got up to answer the summons.

"Hardy residence…oh, hello there, Gertrude!"

Fenton rolled his eyes, groaned softly, and used the remote control to raise the volume on the television. Laura gave him an exasperated look, shook her head, and walked away with the cordless phone.

"Fenton's rather busy at the moment, I'm afraid – there's been a fire at the community college, and he's watching the television coverage."

Laura continued her conversation with Gertrude, who, after talking about the weather in Florida, the latest gossip circulating around her bridge club, and the deplorable state of politics, finally got around to the actual reason for her call. Laura, meanwhile, roamed the kitchen, quietly tidying up odds and ends as she listened to her sister-in-law's rambling monologue. But finally….

" _I have a question for Fenton – ahhh…I need some information – on some legal points,"_ Gertrude hedged.

"Gertrude….You're not in some sort of trouble, are you?"

" _Oh, my, no – no, of course not!"_ The other woman gasped, and chuckled. _"I suppose that did sound rather ominous, didn't it?"_

"Well, a little," Laura conceded, smiling. She leaned against the kitchen counter and waited for details.

" _At any rate, I am just getting some information for…a friend of mine. Someone who needs it for – uh – for, uh—"_ Gertrude's voice trailed off.

"Gertrude, for goodness' sake, what is it?" Laura demanded, her curiosity piqued.

" _A…story."_ The answer came at last, very quietly.

Laura blinked. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't that. "You're doing research for a friend who's a writer? That sounds interesting! What sort of story?"

" _Yes…for a friend,"_ Gertrude hesitated. _"Well, a little more than just a friend, dear. He – his name is Jordan Chamberlain, and I suppose you could say he's a…_ _special_ _…friend."_

Laura felt her mouth drop open in shock. She attempted to respond, but no sound emerged from her throat.

" _I – he's very nice – I met him at a book signing at the bookstore where I go."_

"Oh?" Laura managed to get one syllable out.

" _He was doing the signing,"_ Gertrude elaborated. _"He's a mystery-novel author."_ She gave a somewhat self-conscious laugh. _"Well, he's had one book published, and he's working on another, anyway."_

"That's wonderful, Gertrude!" If Laura's voice came out in a slight squeak, Gertrude didn't seem to notice.

" _So, Laura dear, if I might speak with Fenton for just a moment…."_

"Of – of course. But Gertrude, I want to hear more about Mr. Chamberlain!" Laura said, as she walked back into the family room. She signaled to Fenton with her eyes: _you_ _have_ _to talk!_ He grimaced, but reduced the television volume and held out his hand for the phone.

" _All right – but not tonight,"_ Gertrude told her. _"I'll call tomorrow, all right? Goodnight, Laura – hello, Fenton?"_

###

While Fenton chatted with his sister, Laura did a little more puttering in the kitchen, and carried a load of folded laundry upstairs, which, since it all belonged to Joe, she set on the floor outside his room's closed door. _There,_ she mused. _He'll have to pick it up or fall over it!_ When she reached the family room once more, Fenton was again watching the television coverage of the fire at the college.

"Did you get Gertrude her information?" Laura asked, settling into place beside her husband. He draped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close.

"She could have gotten it from the bar association," he grumbled. "She didn't need to call me!"

"Be nice," she chided. She knew better than to ask whether Gertrude had confided anything regarding Jordan Chamberlain to Fenton; she just hoped she'd get the full story the next day!

"I am nice," Fenton grinned. "I'm always nice—" But his words were cut short by a sound from outside – an intrusive, repetitive noise. "Drat, there goes the Fosters' burglar alarm again!" He got to his feet. "It's always Teresa setting it off when she gets home, but I suppose I'd better make sure…." He headed out the front door. As he departed, he heard the telephone ring again. "Never a dull moment around here…" he muttered.

Mr. Hardy re-entered his home a few moments later, and was met by his wife, holding out the telephone to him. Her blue eyes were wide with surprise.

"Darling…" she whispered, covering the mouthpiece with her hand, "it's Michael Ranson!"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann and Max2013. Hope you continue to enjoy reading [although this is old stuff for Cheryl, at least!].

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 3

THURSDAY MORNING

"You can still smell smoke," Vanessa observed, inhaling deeply. She looked sadly ahead as she and Joe, Frank and Megan walked along the curved sidewalk towards the remains of the college Administration Building. Clusters of other students crowded the walk, most of them headed in the same direction. The site of the devastating fire was everyone's destination this morning.

"Once upon a time – like last year – I'd have been tickled to death to get out of school for just about any reason," Joe answered somberly. "But getting out yesterday because the Admin Building burned down wasn't all that much fun after all."

"Things are going to take months to get sorted out," Megan contributed to the conversation. "All the student records were in the computers in the registrar's office; all the financial aid, all the school administration's offices gone—"

"Most of the teachers have offices in their respective buildings," Frank pointed out.

"But the president's office was there, and the other school officials," his girlfriend reminded him. "And since it was so early in the school year, it's not a sure thing that any records would have been transferred over to the teachers' files. For all we know, we might not even be considered registered anymore!"

Joe gave her a horrified look. "For such a cute little girl, you come up with some really gruesome ideas, Red! If I'm not registered anymore, that means I have to start all over selecting classes, and registering! And I refuse to stand in all those lines again!"

"You'll have to do it next term, you know," Frank reminded him, grinning.

Joe groaned. "I oughta gag you! You just live for chances to say things like that to me!"

The other three laughed; then they paused and stood staring at the reeking piles of rubble. Light drifts of smoke still rose from the still-smoldering debris, ashes scattered in the light breeze. Although clean-up crews had labored the previous day, the mess was horrendous to contemplate. It would be days – or weeks – before things were back to normal.

"Have you heard anything about how it started?" Vanessa asked quietly. "All the news reports say 'under investigation,' and nothing more than that."

"We haven't heard much more than you have," Frank replied. "I was hoping someone might contact Dad, and we could find out that way. If it's still under investigation, then they think there's something worth investigating…in my opinion, not that it means all that much, something that burned that hot and fast can't have been faulty wiring, or something set too close to a heater vent. It almost had to have had help!"

"Meaning that it might have been arson-caused," Joe muttered. "but so far, we've heard zilch. Nobody's calling the Hardys or breaking down our door, asking for an investigation!"

"Do you know people in the fire department that you might ask?" Megan inquired. "Didn't you guys put in some time as volunteers?"

"We did, yeah – but unfortunately, the guys we knew then aren't around now," Frank told her. "I do know a couple people, though – I have a friend, Dani, that taught a CPR refresher class we took…"

"Oh yeah. I'd forgotten." Joe nodded. "Dani might be a place to start, bro."

"If they decide it was faulty wiring, or something, then it's not important," Vanessa said, still staring somberly at the gutted remains of the building. "But if they think it's human-caused – then definitely, Frank, contact Danny!"

"Although I have to admit," Joe reluctantly conceded, "we aren't the only investigators around, and just because we think we should look into it, doesn't mean that everyone thinks that way!"

The teens started on, for classes were in session again, after the previous day's respite, but Frank suddenly paused and bent down to pick up something from the ground next to the sidewalk.

"What is it?" Megan craned her neck to see, and he held his hand out, showing her what he'd found. Joe and Vanessa leaned in too.

"It's a picture—" Vanessa murmured. "Somebody familiar – who is that guy?"

Joe snapped his fingers. "It's President Mitchell, isn't it? M. Charles Mitchell himself!" He glanced at the rubble. "It must have been in his office. Funny how it got clear out here, isn't it – and didn't get burned?"

"Not really," Frank said. "The wind could easily have carried it a lot further than this."

"I think it's sad," Megan commented, staring at the photograph. "He looks happy in this picture, and I'm sure he doesn't feel that way anymore."

"Cheer up, Red, it's not like he died in the fire, or anything!" Joe reminded her.

Reluctantly, they once again started on their way through the knots of gawking students, each of them quiet and sober. More than one backward glance was cast at the smoldering heap behind them.

"Someone please find something more upbeat to talk about!" Vanessa pleaded at last, breaking the uneasy silence. "It's too horrible and depressing, otherwise!"

Joe pulled her close to his side and hugged her comfortingly, then chuckled as a thought struck him. "I've got some news – we had a call from Aunt Gertrude," he announced.

"This is good news?" Vanessa asked skeptically.

Now Frank was laughing too. "It's interesting news, at least," he said. "From what Mom said, our fearsome auntie has developed a love interest, down there in Florida!"

Both girls gasped with disbelief. "Your Aunt Gertrude has a boyfriend?" Megan said incredulously.

"Are you sure she got the facts straight?" Vanessa asked. "No disrespect to your aunt, Joe, but she doesn't seem like the type!"

"Wait'll you hear!" Joe chortled. "He's a writer! A mystery-story writer! She met him at a book-signing, and now she's helping him do research!"

Vanessa peered at him closely. "Are you making this up?" she challenged, "I don't know whether to believe you or not!"

"It's the truth, I swear!" Joe held up his right hand, palm outward. Frank nodded confirmation.

"Is she going to bring him to Bayport so you can meet him?" Megan inquired hopefully. "And is he someone famous? A famous author, I mean?"

"I don't know," Frank admitted. "If she's bringing him here, Mom didn't mention it. And I didn't get the name – Jordan Somebody-or-Other."

"Maybe it's a little early in the relationship to make him meet the relatives!" Joe cracked, and guffawed at his own joke.

"You're not that bad," Vanessa giggled. "She shouldn't be afraid of him meeting you!"

"Speaking of meeting people," Frank added, "Mom and Dad also got a call from some people they met in Tahoe. Apparently they're in Bayport, or they're going to be. Mom invited them over for dinner this weekend."

"The Claremonts?" Vanessa asked. "When we left, they seemed to be friendly enough…after all the trouble!"

Frank shook his head. "It's not them," he denied. "I didn't catch the name, but I'm sure Mom would have said, if it was Mr. and Mrs. Claremont."

"Who else did they meet there?" Joe wondered, then shrugged. "Oh well, their business! They didn't specify that we had to be there and be polite, did they?" he inquired of his older brother, who shook his head again. Joe heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"Frank, did you and Jack settle on a time for you to try flying?" Megan changed the subject once more.

The elder Hardy boy nodded. "Yeah – tomorrow afternoon. I don't have class after two o'clock, so I'm going to meet him at the airfield." He paused, and swallowed. "And then I guess we'll see whether I'm washed up as a pilot or not."

"Don't be silly!" Megan laid her red-gold head against his shoulder. "You're not washed up as a pilot and you know it!"

"Yeah, bro, it's not like you forgot how to fly, or anything!" Joe chimed in. Vanessa nodded emphatic agreement.

"But I can't do very much," Frank said forlornly, refusing to be comforted. He glared at his left arm in its cast and sling. "Jack seems to think he'll be able to tell what I'll be able to do by what I'm able to do…" He broke off, shaking his head, chuckling in spite of himself. "That confused even me!"

Megan looked searchingly into her boyfriend's dark eyes. "Don't be scared," she murmured, too low for Joe or Vanessa to hear as they walked on ahead, and squeezed Frank's arm.

"I'm not really scared," he replied softly. "But I'll be the first one to admit to being awfully nervous!"

#####

Late that evening, flames erupted again on the campus – this time the athletic center and the stadium. And when the fire had been reduced to ash and rubble, and the investigators began their routine the next day, evidence showed that in this instance, there was no question: arson was the cause.

This time, the school didn't close. Classes were not seriously affected by the loss of the stadium and the athletic center; even the physical education and swimming classes used the gymnasium instead.

Joe Hardy, however, was nearly inconsolable.

"Our new athletic center!" he lamented, over coffee and doughnuts with Vanessa in the Student Center. "And the stadium! Now we have no place to play! And our uniforms and equipment! And the field's all torn up by the fire engine wheels, what didn't burn. They'd just put down all new turf, too!"

"Joe, won't they just use one of the high school fields?" Vanessa inquired reasonably. "I'm sure the athletic director can work something out—"

"It's not the same!" he groaned. "That athletic center was NEW! And even if the team sucked, I wanted to play college football…I wanted to play it here, on our own home field!" Joe's blue eyes darkened dangerously. "I want to find this joker that's setting these fires. It's not just an abstract problem any more. Now, it's getting personal!"

#####

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

"Jack, are you sure you want me to do this?" Frank said nervously, climbing into the cockpit of the little blue-and-white plane. "I really don't have much mobility with my left arm; I can't work the controls, I can't reach the switches—"

"—but you can hold onto the yoke, and you can steer, and there's nothing wrong with your ability to work the pedals." Jack Wayne assured him. "And that's why we're going up, anyway. I want to see just what you can and can't do. You've been fretting your life away in the office, doing paperwork while April and I fly the runs. I realize you're limited in what you can do, but that cast isn't going to be on forever, and I want you back in practice. When April's arm was broken, I didn't let her sit around feeling sorry for herself, after all!"

The tall, dark-haired pilot watched Frank struggle briefly with his safety harness before managing to buckle the belt, and then he snapped his own. "And anyway, I'll be right here; it's not like I'm sending you up all by your lonesome! If you get in a bind, I'll save our necks," he grinned. "Okay, assume you're the pilot for this run," he instructed Frank. "Do the pre-flight check-off as well as you can. If there's something you can't do, tell me."

Frank set about the once-familiar routine carefully. He found that he could do a lot of things by using just his right hand, even though he had been accustomed to hitting switches and turning knobs with his left. It was slower, but do-able. Finally, he sat back and looked at his boss, his expression mingling frustration and satisfaction.

"Okay, done," he announced. "All the pre-flight checks completed."

"Good." Jack nodded approval. "I'll get us into the air, and then let's see how you do being a sky jockey again."

#####

Megan pulled out of the supermarket parking lot and into the late-afternoon traffic. She glanced into the back seat of her Accord, making sure the brown grocery sack was going to stay where she'd placed it. With her mother out of town for a business conference, she had decided to buy dinner at the store deli, rather than warming up a can of soup.

 _I wonder how Frank's doing_ , she thought, smiling a little. _He was awfully jittery about trying to fly again, after all this time. But Jack was right; he needs to get back into the air as quickly as possible…besides, Jack and April need him! He'll probably be absolutely bouncing off the walls tonight…._ Her smile widened as she thought of what Frank's phone call might sound like; he loved to fly so much, and if it went well, he would be exuberant. _I like it when he's happy…._

She flicked on her left turn signal, saw the traffic light change to green, and started into the intersection. Watching the other cars moving along with her, Megan never noticed the large brown sedan which crested the slight rise just before the intersection and bombed down the hill towards her. Her first warning was the screech of brakes and squealing of tires, and then the strident blare of a car horn, as the driver, evidently not expecting his light to be red, frantically tried to slow his vehicle – to no avail.

The brown car struck the back left-side door of the Accord with thunderous impact, spinning it in a half-circle. Megan's world filled with the scream of tortured metal and the sound of shattering window glass – and all went black, without her even being sure what had happened.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Many thanks to Cherylann, BMSH and Max2013 for the support and feedback.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 4

"Wonder how Frank's getting along?" Joe opened the front door to his home and ushered Vanessa inside. The two carried their books and bags into the family room, where Vanessa dropped hers on the floor near the couch, while Joe tossed his on one of the recliners. "Hey, Mom? "

There was no answer; evidently Laura was out. Joe walked into the kitchen, just to make sure, but found no one there. Joe glanced around; there didn't seem to be any dinner preparations underway, so he rummaged in the refrigerator for something to eat for himself and Vanessa. As he emerged clutching apples and a plastic sack of grapes, his girlfriend entered the room.

"I hope half of that stash is for me; I'm starving!" Vanessa exclaimed, taking the grapes. "Mom went to New York for a meeting this morning, and she won't be back until late tonight, if then. I'm on my own for dinner; this will tide me over, I hope."

"I'd offer to have you eat here, but I'm not sure there's any dinner to be had!" Joe said, gesturing at the empty stove and countertops. "I don't know where Mom went, but…"

"Don't be silly, I wasn't trying to wangle a dinner invitation!" Vanessa laughed. "And in any case, we could always grab a pizza. What time was Frank supposed to be back?"

"Not sure." Joe crunched his apple, and spoke with his mouth full. "'pends on what all Jack wants 'm to try doing, I guess." He swallowed, and took another huge bite, then reached for the grapes. "Hey, you – share!"

They had just finished off the fruit, and Joe had resumed his foraging, when the telephone rang.

"Maybe that's Mom – or Frank," Joe commented, and reached for the phone. "Hardy residence…"

Vanessa, watching him, saw Joe's face suddenly sober. "No, he's not here – this is his brother; can I take a message?….WHAT? When? Is she badly hurt…?"

Vanessa stared at him in fright. _Laura? Had something happened to Laura?_ Frantically, she tapped Joe's arm, and mouthed _Your mom?_ He shook his head, still listening intently to the voice on the telephone.

"Okay – yes, I'll leave him a message, but tell her that Joe and Vanessa are coming, okay? Will you do that? Thanks!" Joe punched buttons to end the call and start another. After a few seconds, he began speaking, obviously leaving a voicemail message. "Frank, it's Joe. Call me on my cell ASAP. Thanks."

"What is it? What's happened?" Vanessa demanded, as Joe hung up again.

"Come on, we need to get to the emergency room," Joe commanded her tersely, hastily scribbling a note for Laura. "Megan's been in a car accident."

#####

Fifteen minutes later, Joe and Vanessa hurried through the automatic sliding glass doors of the emergency entrance to Bayport General Hospital, clutching each other's hands. They strode up to the information desk, and anxiously demanded to know about Megan Wright.

"She's being treated right now," they were told. "Are you the one I talked to a little while ago?" the information clerk asked Joe, who nodded. "I gave your message to one of the nurses; she said she'd tell her."

"What are her injuries? Will she have to be admitted to the hospital?" Vanessa demanded.

"No, I don't believe so," came the reply. "She was conscious when the ambulance got here, and her injuries didn't look too severe. But the doctor can tell you more than I can. Just have a seat, and I'm sure he'll be out as soon as he can."

Still holding onto each other for mutual reassurance, Joe and Vanessa sat down to wait. It seemed like hours, but in reality, only about 15 minutes passed before a slim, brown-haired man in light green scrubs came into the waiting area and asked if anyone was there for Megan Wright.

"Here!" Joe raised his hand, and then stood up.

"I'm Doctor Schaffer," the physician said, shaking Joe's hand. "And you are…?"

"Joe Hardy," Joe replied. "Megan is my brother's girlfriend. How is she?"

"Was she badly hurt?" Vanessa chimed in anxiously.

"Not really," the physician assured them. "Bruised and banged around some – most of the damage was to her face."

"Her face…." Vanessa breathed, and Joe felt a cold chill traverse his backbone.

"Facial lacerations, broken nose, some neck strain from the impact, part of a front tooth broken off, her mouth was cut…" Dr. Schaffer enumerated, then added hastily: "all very mendable, they'll heal as good as new – however, she's going to be uncomfortable for awhile. In fact—" he broke off, looking somewhat uncomfortable himself. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Miss Wright can be released – but she said her mother isn't home. The next number she gave us to contact was yours, Mr. Hardy."

"Yes – that's fine; that makes sense." Joe was confused. "What's the problem?"

"Miss Wright now seems to be reluctant to see anyone…" The doctor frowned, hesitating. "She was all right when she was first admitted, but after we patched her up, she took a look in the mirror….She became quite upset," he concluded. "I'm not quite sure she's ready to leave."

Vanessa and Joe exchanged troubled glances. "Uh-oh," Vanessa murmured. "Joe, let me go see her. Is that all right?" she inquired of Dr. Schaffer.

He nodded, and turned towards the swinging doors leading to the treatment areas. "Come along."

Vanessa followed him down the hallway lined with curtained cubicles, some open and empty; others with the curtains drawn, apparently occupied. Dr. Schaffer paused before one, and silently drew the drape back enough for Vanessa to enter. He let it fall behind her, and departed.

Megan was sitting on an examining table, her back to the entrance. Vanessa could see the slumped shoulders quivering, and hear soft, shuddering sobs as the little redhead huddled there in forlorn misery.

"Megan—" Vanessa moved swiftly towards her friend.

Megan jerked upright, and turned towards the sound, startled. Vanessa took in the sight of her face, and drew in a sharp breath. _Oh, Megan, sweetie….!_

Wide strips of adhesive tape crossed the tip-tilted nose. A gauze bandage encircled Megan's head, holding a square patch of gauze which evidently covered sutures in the center of her forehead. The soft lips which usually curved into such sweet smiles were now swollen and bloodied with cuts and tooth punctures. And when Megan gasped "NO!", Vanessa could see the jagged edge of a broken front incisor. Tears slid down her cheeks in a constant stream, and her exquisite turquoise eyes were already beginning to swell.

"Vanessa…g-go away…" The words came thick and slurred through the abraded lips. Megan raised her hands, trying to cover her face. "D-don't look…."

"Oh, honey!" Vanessa wrapped her arms about the smaller girl and held her tightly. "Megan, it's all right – it's all right," she crooned, hugging hard, rocking her gently. "It's okay…."

"No – not okay," Megan whimpered brokenly. "H-horrible."

"We're trying to get hold of Frank, he'll be here soon," Vanessa said, hoping to comfort her friend. She was startled when Megan stiffened in her embrace.

"NO! NO! C-Can't see Frank!" she cried. "He can't – see m-me!" The silently streaming tears were now interspersed with sobs.

"Honey, why ever not? He'll want to be here for you—"

"No…n-not…p-pretty…anymore," Megan shuddered. "H-he won't…l-like me anymore." Giving way to her despair, she put her head on Vanessa's shoulder and sobbed helplessly…hopelessly. "G-guys like – p-pretty girls," she wailed. "N-not…f-freaks!"

 _Oh no…._. Vanessa thought frantically while continuing to rock and croon comforting words _. She can't really believe that, can she? Can she?_ Thinking about it, Vanessa could see the logic in Megan's words. _But not Frank – he wouldn't be like that – surely not!_

"Megan, Frank loves you; that's not going to change because you got hurt – and all this is temporary, honey; you'll be back to normal in no time….Don't cry, you'll make your nose stuffy, and it will be harder to breathe…."

"N-never…b-be the s-same….I – I…l-look l-like a…a WITCH!" came the miserable reply. "He'd – he'd take one l-look…and – and—" The sobs increased in intensity.

The drape was drawn back, and Dr. Schaffer entered the cubicle, holding what appeared to be prescription papers. His eyes were concerned as he beheld the distraught Megan, and he spoke to Vanessa over her head.

"I've prescribed some pain medication, and something to help her sleep tonight. You'll make sure the prescriptions are filled, and she takes them?"

The blonde girl nodded, and accepted the slips of paper. "Yes."

"Megan…" The physician waited until the little redhead lifted her head and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. "You can go, whenever you feel like it. Take the pills as prescribed, and keep ice packs on anything that hurts. Don't blow your nose, if you can help it. I suggest you contact your dentist tomorrow to see about having that tooth repaired. The stitches in your forehead should come out in a week – you can either come back here, or go to your regular doctor to have that done. Understand?"

She nodded mutely, then managed a choked "thank you."

"That's what I'm here for." Dr. Schaffer smiled at her, and patted her shoulder gently. "Just take it easy for a few days, and let people take care of you. You're probably going to be extremely stiff and sore tomorrow – well, for the next several days, actually. If your neck starts bothering you too much, beyond what can be controlled by the medication, have someone check you over again." He included Vanessa in his smile, and then departed. Megan dropped her head back to Vanessa's shoulder.

"Don't want…to be a bother…." The desolate murmur tore at Vanessa's heart.

"Don't be silly!" She shook Megan slightly. "You're not a bother; Joe and I love you, and want to take care of you. And so will Frank. Now, I'm going to run to the pharmacy here in the hospital and get these filled, and then we'll go – would you rather go home to my house, or have me go home with you, and stay?"

A slight shrug was all the answer she received.

"Darling, please – things will be all right, you'll see!" Vanessa hugged her friend again. "I'll be back in just a little bit."

Vanessa hurried back to the waiting area, where she found Joe in intense conversation on his cell phone, evidently talking to someone about Megan's car, from what she could gather. When he spotted his girlfriend, he quickly concluded the conversation.

"Well?" he demanded. "How's Megan?"

"Upset." Vanessa stared at him, troubled. She wasn't sure exactly how to explain this. "She – her face got banged up. Airbag, maybe? Her nose was broken, anyway."

Joe nodded impatiently, waiting for details.

"Joe, she's crying so hard – she doesn't want to let anyone see her – and she thinks Frank won't like her any more because she – because she's not pretty now," Vanessa finished in a rush.

Joe stared at her incredulously. "Van, that's crazy!" he expostulated. "Frank's gonna go out of his mind when he hears about this, and he'll want to be with her night and day! And he's not going to care if her face is banged up!"

"I know that – but think about it, Joe, Megan's got a point." Vanessa stared at him challengingly. "Guys like pretty girls – and right now, she doesn't look very pretty. Answer me this: would you have been attracted to me, when we first met, if I'd been short and chunky, with stringy hair and an overbite? Would Frank have been attracted to Megan?"

"Van, that's unfair." Joe flushed, and didn't answer the question.

"Unfair or not, it's true." Vanessa scowled. "I'm going to get these prescriptions filled, and then I'll be back, and we can take Megan home. I'd thought about taking her to my house, but she'll feel better at her own home. I'll just plan on staying there with her." She turned to go.

Joe's hand shot out to catch her arm. "Do you think it might help if I talked to her?" he asked.

"I don't know, Joe – maybe. Maybe not."

Left alone, Joe didn't hesitate more than a few seconds. He walked into the treatment area, and began hunting for his brother's girlfriend. When he found the right cubicle, he paused briefly, surveying the scene.

Megan was still sitting on the examination table, turned partially away from the doorway. She was huddled in on herself, apparently studying the clasped hands lying in her lap, and Joe could hear her quivering breaths and sniffles; he couldn't recall ever seeing warm, loving, effervescent Megan in such abject misery. He stepped into the cubicle and pulled the drape shut behind him.

"Red…"

She jumped violently, and gasped in horror. Her hands flew to cover her face. "Go away, Joe!" she cried. "Go away—I don't want—"

Joe didn't give her time to complete the protest. He simply walked over to the table and gathered her close in his arms, hugging her gently. "You poor kid," he murmured, rubbing her back soothingly. "It's okay, Red, it's okay…."

"Never be – okay," she whispered, and began to cry again. "I look – look awful. Frank will be…will be horri-horrified. And…I'm…you can't call me 'kid.' I'm…older than you are…." For a moment, she sounded a little more normal; then her tears increased again, one sharp sob following another in rapid succession.

"Easy, Red – easy," Joe soothed. "Don't cry so hard, please? It'll make you feel worse, getting so upset…." He felt her shudder, and tightened his grip a little. After a moment or two, he spoke again. "Megan, let me see. Please?" Very gently, Joe touched the girl's face, lifting it into view. She tried to resist, but Joe, although gentle, was inexorable; she finally gave in and faced him, closing her tear-filled eyes so she didn't have to see his reaction.

Surveying Megan carefully, Joe winced in sympathy for her. _Broken nose…ouch, that'll give her two black eyes in a day or two…cuts…broken tooth._ But essentially she was all right, he knew that much. He pulled her head against his shoulder again, and resumed his comforting pats.

"You see…?" She gulped, hard. "Men want…beautiful girls – not something like this!" Another tremor shook her.

"Baby—" Joe paused. Although the endearment came naturally, it was _Frank's_ pet name for Megan. Joe didn't feel he could encroach quite that much. "Red," he began again, "listen to me, okay? Are you listening?"

After a long moment, she nodded slowly against his chest.

"When Frank was hurt in Nevada, his face was banged up, wasn't it? He had cuts, and bruises and was all scraped up? And so was I, right?" Joe waited for the response. Finally it came, another slow nod. "Did that make you stop loving him? Did it make Van stop loving me?"

"No." The word was barely audible.

"But you think Frank would stop loving you because of this? Do you really think he's that shallow? That doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"

After a long silence, she whispered, "You forget, Joe…"

He frowned in puzzlement. "Forget what?"

"I'm…the one…who caught him on…the rebound," she choked out. "He'd never have started dating me otherwise."

"On the—" Joe sighed and shook his head in despair. "What's that have to do with it?" he demanded.

"It makes…a difference."

"You didn't 'catch him on the rebound,' Red; you saved him from a broken heart. And I say again, you think he's so shallow that he'd stop loving you because of this?"

Another long silence. And then she muttered, "Double standard for men and women, Joe."

He winced again at the inescapable logic of her words. "It won't matter to Frank. All he's going to want to do is hold you, and comfort you, and make things all right again."

She shivered. "I can't let him see me, Joe. I don't…don't want to look at his eyes…and see pity – and revulsion." The words came slowly, slurring through the battered lips.

"You won't see anything like that, and if you use your head – or better yet, use your heart – you'll know it. The guy loves you, Megan. He'd love you if you'd been chopped into little chunks." He waited, but she remained silent. "All this is going to heal, you know," Joe reminded her. "Once the swelling goes down, and you get that tooth fixed, you'll be as good as new. As pretty as ever."

"Weeks…" she murmured drearily.

"Well—" Joe lightened his tone. "You've got to see Frank before then. If he can't see you all the time, he goes nutso – and I have to live with the guy! Take pity on me, huh?"

Megan attempted to laugh in the middle of a sob, and hiccupped. Joe chuckled, heartened by this, and kept up his persuasions, automatically smoothing the silky auburn swirls of her newly-shortened hair as he talked. "Believe me, I'm right about this. Nothing is going to make him stop being head-over-heels in love with you. However, when he hears you've been in a car wreck, he may have a coronary himself. You don't want that, do you?"

She shook her head, mutely, and Joe continued.

"Right. Neither do I – there's only so much stress I can take! So what do you say we get you home, so you can rest…and then maybe you can talk to him on the phone, and reassure him that you're all right...huh? How does that sound?" he coaxed.

"I guess so." Megan sighed, then started to slide off the table, and hissed at the motion. "Ouch!" She completed the move more carefully, her movements stiff. She looked around the little cubicle, and bent to pick up her purse from where it sat on the floor in the corner. "Ouch," she muttered again, at the action.

"Bruises hurting?" Joe guided her towards the hall.

"Uh-huh…" Still keeping her head lowered, trying to hide her face, Megan docilely allowed him to take her to the waiting room, where Vanessa waited.

"Let's go," Joe murmured, as Vanessa stood up at their approach.

"I've called Mom," she nodded. "I left a message on her cell phone. I told her what happened, and that I'd be staying over at Megan's tonight."

"Now we just have one more hurdle," Joe commented, after he helped Megan into the rear seat of his Aztek, and he and Vanessa were walking to the front of the vehicle. "We've got to tell Frank what happened, and keep him from going into orbit!"


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 5

Frank swung his car keys happily as he walked from the Wayne's World hangar to where his car was parked. The flight with Jack had gone so well he was feeling very optimistic about his recovery _. Even if I can't fly cargo runs yet, it's coming! I can stick with the paperwork, knowing that it won't be for all that long, now…._

He unlocked the Saturn and got in, performed his usual struggle with fastening his seatbelt one-handed, then started the motor. He was glad his car was an automatic shift; he _might_ have been able to manage with a standard, but steering with his disabled left arm was tricky. He glanced at his cell phone, lying on the passenger seat, but decided that since he was going to be home soon anyway, he wouldn't bother turning it on.

Frank put his car in Drive, and exited the parking lot, still happily contemplating his successful test flight.

#####

Joe pulled to a stop in front of Megan's house, and switched the engine off. In the back seat, where she had curled in silence throughout the drive home, Megan stirred and sighed. Vanessa and Joe both turned to look at her.

"How you doin'?" Joe inquired gently.

"I'm okay – but my face aches," the little redhead admitted dejectedly, "and I'm awfully tired."

"Let's get her inside and lying down," Vanessa urged her boyfriend, opening her door and getting out.

As they were escorting Megan up her front steps, Joe's cell phone chimed melodically from its place clipped to his belt. He sighed, dreading having to explain this to Frank – but when he glanced at the readout, he saw the call was coming from his home. Well, it still might be Frank.

"Hello?"

" _Joe? I just got home, and found your note."_ Laura's voice came clearly through the connection _. "What's happened?"_

"Oh, Mom, I'm glad it's you!" Quickly, Joe explained about the accident.

" _Is there anything you'd like me to do?"_ his mother asked, after commiserating with Megan's plight.

"Actually, do you suppose you could get hold of her mother, and tell her about the accident?" Joe requested. "Megan," he pulled his mouth away from the phone to speak to her, "what's your mom's cell phone number, do you know?"

After a moment's thought, she gave him the information, and Joe relayed it to Laura. "Mom, be sure and tell her that Megan's okay; we've taken her home, and she'll call her after a little while."

" _I'll tell her,"_ she assured Joe. She paused. _"Frank doesn't know yet?"_

"No – not yet. I'm not looking forward to that." Joe sighed.

" _If he hasn't checked with you when he gets home, Joe, I'll tell him,"_ Laura offered. She knew as well as Joe how Frank would react to news like this about his cherished girlfriend.

Joe was filled with gratitude. "Thanks, Mom – maybe he'll take it better, if it comes from you. I'll talk to you later." He shut his phone and returned it to its clip. "Family room couch, or bed, Megan?" he inquired.

She gazed about blankly. "Bed…I guess," she murmured at last, and allowed Joe and Vanessa to guide her in the appropriate direction.

While Vanessa helped Megan get settled, Joe created cold packs, and fetched water and the medications Vanessa had gotten from the pharmacy. Finally he knocked gently on Megan's bedroom doorframe. "Okay for me to come in? Everybody decent?"

"Yes, come on in," Vanessa replied quietly. She took the ice packs from Joe, and stood back as he approached Megan's bedside.

"Hey, Red – think you can get these down without it hurting your mouth too much?" Joe glanced at the labels on the bottles, and removed the appropriate dosages. "One of each, that's all."

Wincing at the touch of the glass against her cut lips, Megan swallowed the tablets and lay back against the stacked pillows. "Thanks," she whispered. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

"You aren't a bother; I haven't gotten to play doctor for a long time," Joe teased gently. Vanessa snorted quietly at that, and even Megan attempted a smile. Joe took her hand and squeezed it lightly. "You just rest."

But rest wasn't on Megan's mind at the moment. "My mom…we need to call her." Megan suddenly started to struggle upright. "Even if she talked to Laura, I need to call her. And the insurance company has to be called….The number of her hotel – it's written by the phone in the kitchen. Or call her cell…." She blinked back a sudden rush of tears. "I'd better talk to her myself," she said, "Otherwise, she'll get all scared and think she needs to come home, and miss her conference…."

"Stay put," Joe ordered. "I'll make the call, and tell you when to pick up the phone in here so you can talk to her. Don't you dare try to get back up!"

"Tyrant…" she whispered, but meekly obeyed.

"Hey, I owe you, after all the flak I took from you in Tahoe!" the younger Hardy reminded her, and departed for the kitchen to call Carolyn Wright.

#####

Frank parked his car and headed for the house, mildly surprised to see Joe's Aztek absent. _I thought Joe and Vanessa were planning on hanging here tonight…wonder if they went to her place instead? Or maybe they decided to go out to a movie or something._ He entered his home, and walked towards the kitchen, hearing the sounds of Laura working on dinner.

"Hi, Mom!" Frank leaned to kiss his mother's cheek, and she hugged him affectionately.

"Hello, darling." One look at Frank told Laura that he hadn't received Joe's message; he looked far too happy and serene. She turned her back to him hastily, biting her lip in consternation. _Well, Laura, you told Joe you'd tell him! Get on with it!_

"Frank – have you checked your phone messages recently?" she began.

"No – why, did you leave me one, or something?" Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Oh – looks like Joe did…." He sat down at the table, starting to hit the buttons that would call his voicemail.

"Honey, I can tell you why Joe called." Laura stopped Frank from accessing his messages. "Frank – honey—"

"What's wrong?" Alarm bells were suddenly clanging in Frank's head. "What's happened?"

Laura spit it out as fast as she could. "Megan was in a car accident this afternoon, but she's okay, Frank, she wasn't hurt badly. She's already been released from the hospital."

"WHAT?" Frank shot to his feet, going pale. "WHEN? WHERE? Why didn't someone let me know? How could you just wait for me to come home?" Now his face was turning red with fury.

"Frank! Joe tried to call you!" Laura scolded him. "And I just found out about it a little while ago, when I got home. We had no way of reaching you; you turned off your phone!"

Frank bit his lip and stared at his mother. The anger drained from his face, and worry flooded in to replace it. "How badly is she hurt?" he whispered.

"I think it was mostly bumps and bruises," Laura replied. "Call Joe, darling, he can tell you; he and Vanessa took her home."

"I'd better get over there…" Frank wheeled about, already moving towards the door.

Laura grabbed his arm. "Wait – please, Frank, call Joe first." Joe had briefly explained Megan's reluctance to see Frank – or rather, to let him see _her_. "Please."

Frank cast his mother an anguished look, then sank into his chair again and clicked on his phone to call Joe's cell number.

"Joe? It's me – Mom told me what happened – how is she?"

###

A few minutes later, Frank was once again behind the wheel of his car, driving across Bayport to Megan's home. Despite Joe's repeated reassurances as to Megan's well-being, he wanted to see for himself. His mind churned with concern and worry for her, and with anger for the careless driver who had caused the accident. _Joe said he'd checked with the police, and the guy was ticketed for running a red light, and speeding – and his insurance will pay for replacing Megan's car, and the hospital bills…but that's not enough!_ Frank clenched his teeth. _That's not enough! Joe didn't tell me his name – maybe he didn't know. Did he and Megan talk, after the accident, or was she too badly hurt?_

When he reached the modest ranch-style house where Joe's car sat in the driveway, Frank quickly parked and hurried towards the front door. Before he could ring the doorbell, the door was opened by Vanessa, who pulled him inside, and then put her arms around Frank and hugged him tightly.

"Frank, stop looking like that; it's going to be all right – but Joe and I want to talk to you, before you try to see Megan." She tugged him towards the kitchen. "Come and sit down; I've made some tea, and you look like you could do with a cup."

"What do you need to talk to me about?" Frank demanded, his eyes flicking from Vanessa to Joe, who was in the kitchen, seated at the table. "Why can't I just see her? I want to make sure she's all right!" His voice scaled upwards.

"Because this is important." Joe held his brother's gaze steadily. "Now, are you willing to sit there and listen?"

"Y-yes…." Frank sank into a chair and drew the mug of tea Vanessa poured closer. He picked it up and sipped, gingerly. He really didn't _like_ tea all that much.

Joe glanced at his girlfriend, and then plunged in. "First of all, believe me when I say that she really isn't badly hurt. You know she wouldn't have been released from the hospital if she was. You believe me, right?"

"Okay…." Frank took another sip of the tea.

"She's got some bruises and bumps that will probably show up later, and the doc mentioned neck strain – whiplash – but what took the most impact, Frank, was her face," Joe continued, his voice very gentle. "She has a broken nose, and one of her front teeth was broken off, her mouth's cut up, and her forehead was cut." He paused, interrupted by Frank's shocked gasp.

Now Vanessa spoke. "Frank, when Joe and I got to the hospital, the doctor told us that Megan didn't want to see anyone; she was too upset. But I went back anyway, to where she was. She was crying herself sick – and she said she didn't want you to be called – because she's afraid that you won't love her anymore….because now she isn't pretty anymore…" Vanessa's words trailed into poignant silence, and her eyes were full of sympathy as she gazed at Frank's horrified face.

"How could she think something like that?" he gasped. "That's – that's crazy! I wouldn't stop loving her!" He looked down at the cast on his arm. "She didn't stop loving me, when I was hurt – why would I stop loving her?"

"Bro, we know it's crazy, but right now Megan's not thinking very straight," Joe said, reaching to lay a comforting hand on Frank's wrist. "We just didn't want you charging in there, not knowing what she was thinking, and feeling." He smiled a little. "I'm not sure she's awake, anyhow," he continued. "The doctor gave her pain pills and a sedative, and we made sure she took both. I suspect she's pretty much out of things, right now."

Frank stared at them, feeling both relieved and confused. "Thank you – both of you – for being there for her," he murmured, finally. "Since I wasn't able to."

"That's what brothers are for, isn't it?" Joe quipped. "Backup?"

Frank returned to the incredible idea that Megan had had. "I just don't see why she would think something like that," he repeated.

Vanessa cleared her throat. "Double standard," she said dryly. "As Megan herself said, 'guys like pretty girls.' She knows that right now, she isn't all that pretty."

Frank rested his elbow on the table and dropped his face into his hand, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Drink your tea," Joe suggested. "And then we'll see if she'd let you talk to her for a couple of minutes. But don't be surprised if she's only half awake – or if she refuses to see you."

Frank managed to down about half the cup before he could wait no longer. "I've got to see her," he said, pushing the cup away.

"But she was pretty adamant about you not seeing her right now," Vanessa reminded him. "If you march in there and she gets upset…."

Frank stared at her piteously. "Van, I – you know she's wrong about—"

"Hang on—" Joe held up both hands, palms outward. "I'm coming up with a brilliant idea, here." He winked at Vanessa and gave Frank an encouraging grin. "What about this? Frank can go and sit with her…but keep the lights off? Just have enough dim light from the hallway so that he doesn't trip over things, maybe? Megan could know he's there, but she'd also know he couldn't really see her."

The harried look faded from Frank's face. "Joe, that is brilliant!" he congratulated his brother, who nonchalantly buffed his fingernails against his shirt.

Vanessa was nodding approval. "It's the perfect solution, Joe; good for you." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'll go check with Megan, and see if she's awake."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 6

Vanessa slipped through the bedroom door quietly, leaving it ajar, testing the amount of light which extended into the room. _Looks about right_ , she thought, stepping over to the bed. "Megan? You awake, hon?"

"Uh-huh." The other girl's muffled tones came almost immediately in answer. "I guess those pills the doctor gave me aren't working."

"Either one? Not the pain pill either?"

"I d'know…maybe. I d'know how bad I'd hurt without it."

Vanessa pulled a chair close to the bedside and sat down. "Someone's here to see you."

Megan inhaled sharply. "Frank?" she whispered.

"Uh-huh. He really, really wants to see you, Meggie. Please say he can."

"No – no!" Tears were close, in that blurred voice. "He can't—"

"How about if it's dark, like this? No lights on. He wouldn't be able to see you, but he'd be here, honey. Wouldn't that be all right? Megan, don't you want him here? Really?" Vanessa persisted.

There was a long pause. Then: "Yes…I want him. I guess…that would be okay." Megan gulped, and sniffled. "If the lights stay off."

 _Whew!_ Vanessa breathed a sigh of relief. This had gone easier than she'd expected. Maybe the sedative had worked to calm Megan's fears, rather than putting her to sleep. "Okay, I'll bring him."

"Van, wait – I'm scared." Megan reached for her friend's hand, and gripped it tightly. "I'm really scared."

Vanessa squeezed the cold little hand, hard. "Megan – darling, it's Frank! You've never been afraid of Frank in all the time you've known him!"

"Doesn't make—any difference." Megan whispered forlornly, and released her hand. "I never looked – like this – before."

###

All too soon, in Megan's opinion, footsteps approached her room, and the door opened again. A tall figure was silhouetted against the light streaming in from the hallway, and then the door was swung almost closed. Only the smallest rays were admitted, leaving her bedroom in near-total darkness.

"Megan – Baby?"

"Frank…." The word was difficult to enunciate, between the painful cuts and the now-advanced swelling of Megan's lips. But it was clear enough to her listener. With two long strides, Frank was in the chair beside the bed, reaching for her in the dimness.

"Baby – oh, baby…" Frank found one outstretched hand; then, very, very gently, he gathered her up, shoving the plastic bags of ice aside, cradling her against his shoulder as best he could with only one arm. It was awkward, with his cast in the way, and he was afraid he might hurt her. He could feel her shuddering against him. "It's all right, it's all right," he crooned. "I'm here now – everything's going to be all right – shhh, don't cry, don't cry, Megan….Oh, God, love, I was so scared when Mom told me about the accident! The thought of something happening to you…."

"I'm…so…sorry…" Megan felt a tight knot begin to dissolve inside her as she nestled against him; as if the hot tears streaming down her face were finally melting the icy internal core of fear and desolation she had held within since the accident. She was still very apprehensive about Frank's reaction to her ravaged appearance, but it was dark…and he was here – and suddenly, she felt safe again.

"Sorry?" Frank kissed the top of her head, stroked her hair carefully, noting the bandage encircling her head. He briefly laid his cheek against her hair. "What do you have to be sorry about?" He loosened his hold slightly, easing her back against the pillows. "Lie back down, honey... Attagirl, take it easy….Shhh, it's okay now, just relax."

Megan clung to him, hating to be released, even though lying down felt better than sitting up. "Being…a bother…to everyone," she said haltingly. "Causing so much…trouble. S-sorry." _It sounds like 'thowwy,'_ she thought, horrified, and felt like hiding beneath the covers in her chagrin.

If Frank noticed the lisp, he didn't mention it. "Nothing to be sorry for," he murmured, and laid his lips gently against her cheek. Encountering the adhesive tape across her nose, he winced involuntarily. "Baby, are you sure you're all right?"

She tried to laugh, but ended up whimpering; it hurt. "So they tell me. But my car's totaled, Frank! Joe called and found out…."

"I'm not worried about the car right now," Frank informed her. "I'm worried about you." With a feather-light touch, he traced over her nose, then the bandage on her forehead; finally he touched her lips. "I'm so sorry, love," he murmured. "But everything will be all right. It'll work out…the car, too."

"Re-remember…when you were in…the plane that Joe landed?" she whispered, making a valiant attempt to find something humorous in the situation. "You had to wear – that foam collar. Because you got whiplash. The doctor said…said that I have whiplash – but he didn't say I had to wear one…I guess I'm better off than you were, huh? And it – it's one of those – those shared experiences that – that couples are supposed to have…." Again, she attempted a weak laugh.

"Matching cases of whiplash is not my idea of togetherness, Megan!" Frank chuckled ruefully. He found one of her hands, and held it tightly, then brought it to his lips. "Darn you, I think you've shortened my life by about a decade today!" he scolded gently. "Don't you know how precious you are to me? And then Joe and Vanessa told me you didn't want me here…."

"I still – don't want – you to see me," the girl admitted slowly. "I look – repulsive." _Oh no…'thee me,'… '_ _repulthive'_ _…._

"You'll heal." Frank held her hand against his cheek, turned his head to kiss her palm. "You'll be good as new, and just as beautiful as ever." He sighed. "But I'll respect your wishes for now." Amusement tinged his voice again. "After all, I'm getting to meet you in a dark bedroom because of it…"

She gasped, and then started to laugh, shakily. "You idiot…" Abruptly, the laughter became tears again. "Frank, I was so scared. The crash…I get the shakes, just trying to think about it. And I can't really remember what happened – it all happened so fast! The other car just sort of – came out of nowhere!"

He leaned close, kissing whatever came first, in the darkness. "I know, Baby…I know. Don't think about it. Not now. Later will be soon enough."

Finally, Frank sat back and smoothed the covers over his girlfriend. "You're supposed to be resting. Want me to go, and let you sleep? Or stay?"

She sighed. "I suppose" – ' _thuppothse!' Oh, God!_ – "you'd better go, although it's nice having you around. But I don't think I can sleep, really. I feel too jittery. Whatever that doctor gave me, it isn't working."

"I think if you just close your eyes and relax," Frank cautiously stroked her hair, "you can sleep. And if having me around makes you feel better, I won't leave you. I'll stay."

"No—" The soft voice he loved so dearly was regretful, but firm. "I want you to go home and stop worrying about me. Vanessa's staying." ' _Vaneththa's thtaying'_ …Megan cringed inside as she heard herself.

"I'm not going to stop worrying about you, but if you want me to go, I will - after you're asleep – but remember this, Baby: I love you, and nothing in the whole world is ever going to change that. Now shut your eyes and relax." He stopped smoothing her hair, and began stroking her shoulder and arm instead; long, gentle strokes, as if petting a cat. "Nothing's going to change it," he repeated soothingly, "Not a car accident, not anything. No matter how you think you look, or think I ought to feel. Understand?"

"Yesss…I und'rstan," Megan sighed. "Talk – talk to me…for a little bit. Pleathe?" She caught her breath at the sound of the slurred words, but again, Frank didn't seem to notice.

"Okay. What would you like me to talk about?"

"Tell me – about your flight…with Jack," she whispered. "How – how'd it – go?"

 _She's trying so hard!_ Frank thought, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. _Trying to act like everything's normal…._ He began to speak, consciously keeping his voice soft and striving for a monotone, hoping to lull her into slumber. "Well, it went better than I'd expected. First Jack had me do all the pre-flight checks…just to see what I could actually do with just one hand…."

Despite her real interest in what he was saying, and her prior words to the contrary, as Frank kept talking Megan felt herself slipping into the black void of sleep. She let her eyes slide closed. The last thing she remembered was feeling the warmth of his lips on her cheek.

###

Frank walked out to the kitchen and sank heavily into a chair. Vanessa and Joe, who had been sitting at the table and quietly chatting, eyed him, and then Vanessa refilled Frank's teacup and pushed it towards him.

"Well?" she demanded.

"She's – I suppose she's okay," Frank sighed. "I mean, it was hard to tell without seeing her. She finally relaxed enough to go to sleep. I stayed until I was sure she was." He took a sip of tea, then a deeper swallow. "She just seems so – fragile, somehow!"

"Fragile? Megan?" Joe cracked. "We're talking about Megan, here, remember? Little 'I'm tougher than I look' Megan. The one who helped us break into office buildings, and faced down kidnappers two different times, and helped Vanessa catch a guy trying to drug me, in the hospital, and bosses you, brother dear, around when no one else can."

Frank chuckled unwillingly. "I know, I know. But it doesn't make any difference, Joe. She may be tougher than she looks, but she's also not as tough as she wants people to think – and you know it!"

Joe decided his jokes weren't having the desired effect. "I know," he conceded quietly.

Frank looked inquiringly at Vanessa. "Tell me again, what exactly were her injuries?"

"Broken nose – she said the doctor told her it wasn't displaced at all, just cracked the bone, so it should heal as good as new – that snapped-off front tooth, the cut to her head, neck strain, various bruises over the rest of her body, that will show up later. And her mouth is all cut up, inside and out."

Frank sighed dejectedly. "I know they sound minor, compared to what we ended up with in Nevada," he admitted, "but it's harder seeing her hurt than being hurt myself." Joe, evidently imagining Vanessa in a similar situation, nodded.

Vanessa abruptly changed the topic of conversation. "I don't know about you two, but I'm starving to death," she announced. "I've already checked the fridge; obviously Carolyn and Megan don't believe in leftovers. Either that, or they never eat anything." She smiled. "Shall we order something in? Or are you guys heading home?"

The boys exchanged glances. "Megan told me to go home," Frank admitted.

"I suppose we should," Joe said reluctantly. "It's not like we can do anything to help – or can we?"

"No," Vanessa shook her head. "Now that she's asleep, she'll probably be zonked out the rest of the night. I wish I had my bag here, though; I could use the study time."

"It's at our house," Joe recollected. "I could bring it back over. Say, I just realized; you're stuck here, aren't you? Your jeep's at your house, you came here with me."

"I figured you were leaving the Aztek for me," Vanessa teased him. "You can go back home with Frank."

Joe looked slightly taken aback at this. "How about if I go home and bring your books over. You won't need to go anywhere tonight."

She rolled her eyes, but nodded agreeably. "Whatever, Joe."

The ringing of the telephone interrupted the desultory conversation. When Vanessa answered, it turned out to be Megan's mother, Carolyn. Joe had reached her earlier, and Megan had reassured her mother that really, she was all right, and didn't need immediate parental attention, but Carolyn still sounded concerned. She told them that she had changed her flight reservations from Philadelphia, and would be home early Sunday, rather than late in the afternoon.

The teens assured her that Megan was asleep, and that they would take good care of her, and finally the anxious mother seemed convinced. She added that she had spoken to her insurance agent. "Megan's going to be upset about losing that car," she said regretfully. "But I suppose it was time to replace it anyhow."

"Did you get the name of the creep that hit her?" Frank asked Joe, when the call was completed. "I hope he's got a really good insurance plan!" Frank's dark eyes flashed angrily. "Did the police book him for reckless driving?"

"Whoa, now…it was an accident, Frank, an accident!" Joe held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "No, I didn't get the name. I'm sure Megan's mom will find out, when she talks to the officer who was at the scene, and her insurance agent may have told her already. She just didn't say who it was. Yes, as far as I know, he has good insurance, and yes, he was ticketed, but not arrested! I called Con, and asked him to check into the traffic report on it, for me."

Joe chuckled a little. "It wasn't a terrorist plot, Frank, it was a car accident. These things happen sometimes, remember?" He frowned slightly. "Although Con did mention that the guy said his brakes didn't seem to work right – he had brakes, and he did try to stop, but they were mushy, and didn't respond very well." He shook his head. "Of all times for somebody's brakes to give out, huh?"

Frank growled something rude under his breath that Joe chose not to hear, then abruptly stood up. "Come on, we might as well go home!" he snapped grumpily. "Van, I'll call over here first thing in the morning, to find out how Megan's doing. Joe, if you're leaving the Aztek and coming with me, I'm leaving now. Otherwise, you're driving yourself home." He stamped into the front hall, and went out the front door.

Joe stared after his older brother, wide-eyed. Finally, he shook his head and muttered "PMS," then kissed a giggling Vanessa quickly. "Want me to leave the car?"

"No, go ahead and take it. But if you would…" Vanessa smiled at him. "I really would appreciate having my book bag."

"You'll have it in half an hour," Joe promised, and departed.

###

Joe was nearly as good as his word, and returned 35 minutes later, bearing not only Vanessa's books, but a glass container of macaroni and cheese, and a plastic bowl of fruit salad. "Mom sent you some dinner," he offered smilingly. "But she says to tell you that she's sorry there aren't any grapes in the salad…apparently someone ate them all—"

Both of them broke into decidedly guilty laughter, then Vanessa eagerly took the food from Joe.

"I love your mother," she murmured, and immediately began searching for silverware, without even bothering to reheat the casserole. "Don't mind me, Joe – you don't need to stick around – go home and eat," she mumbled, through a mouthful of macaroni. Joe, laughing helplessly, pecked her on the cheek and obeyed.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 7

Megan was awakened early, by the raucous sounds of blue jays screeching outside her windows. For long moments she lay absolutely still, listening to the racket. A flashing thought of _Oh, I've got to get up for school!_ was followed by _Oh…no, it's Saturday_. And then recollection hit. The car accident!

If she didn't move, nothing hurt. But just one single attempt…. Very cautiously, Megan turned her head, wincing at the resultant pain in her neck, and found that her face seemed to be surrounded by plastic bags of cold water. _Vanessa must have been in and out of here a lot last night,_ she thought, for otherwise the water would have been tepid, not cold. She shoved them away, and hauled herself to a sitting position, feeling twinges of pain all over her body.

Slowly, she struggled to her feet, and waited for the medication-induced fuzziness to dissipate. Avoiding looking in the mirror over her dresser, Megan moved towards the door, and went into the hallway.

The door to her mother's bedroom was closed, and she assumed that Vanessa was sleeping there. Megan stumbled into the bathroom next to her room, and shut the door, then turned on the light. For a moment she stood braced against the door, her eyes closed – and then, resolutely, she opened them and faced the mirror.

 _Oh my God…oh no….Oh no._ She shuddered and closed her eyes again; took a deep breath, and cracked the lids open. She still looked the same. This time, however, she just shivered momentarily, then began to take stock.

 _First, let's get rid of this…._ She unwound the gauze bandage from her head, revealing the square patch held on with medical tape which covered her stitches. _Better – not great, but better. And if I can put a Band-aid over it instead, even better yet._ Gingerly, she touched the adhesive tape crossing her nose. _Ouch! – nope, that stays._ Her wide azure eyes were already shadowing with bruises from the nose injury, she noticed. Her mouth looked both better and worse: the swelling had receded, but that made her fractured tooth more noticeable, and the cuts showed up prominently. _Got to call Dr. Sheldon's office this morning – he doesn't work on Saturdays, but maybe his associate does. I've got to get this tooth fixed, ASAP!_ Even so, the thought of having dental work done with her mouth in its present condition gave her the shivers.

She ran a hand through her matted auburn hair, and turned away from the mirror. Aching muscles and bruises were crying out for a hot bath. _Maybe I'll feel better after that…._ She started the water, then went back to her room for some clean clothes to wear.

###

Forty-five minutes later, Megan emerged from the bathroom. She had hated to get out of the tub, and kept postponing the inevitable, adding more and more hot water as it cooled. At last, however, she was out, dry and fully dressed in loose sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and her clean, damp hair was combed into an approximation of her usual style. The shorter, straightened haircut was a blessing, she realized. Putting on makeup had been an impossibility, but after all, who was going to see her? Vanessa wouldn't care! And Dr. Sheldon's partner had no doubt seen worse.

As if her thoughts had summoned the other girl, Vanessa opened Mrs. Wright's bedroom door and popped her head out. "Megan! You're up! I couldn't believe it when I heard the water running…how are you feeling?"

"Stiff and sore and generally rotten," Megan groused, trying her best to force a smile. "But I don't want to take anymore of that stuff the doctor gave me now; it'll knock me loopy again." She reached to give Vanessa a small hug. "Thanks for staying, Van, and taking care of me. How late did you stay up, messing with those ice packs?"

"Oh, maybe one or so," Vanessa admitted, "but I was studying too, so don't make me sound like a martyr. Maybe you could try taking some regular aspirin, or ibuprofen, if you don't want to take the prescription painkillers?" she suggested.

"Good idea." Megan nodded, and turned back to the bathroom. "I'll do that right now – and then, I think I might lie down again for awhile…."

"Good idea," Vanessa echoed in her turn. "You rest while I take a shower – and then I'll see what I can whip up for breakfast that you're able to eat!"

###

It was nearly an hour and a half later by the time breakfast was served in the Wright household. Megan had fallen asleep almost immediately upon going back to bed, and Vanessa waited until she reawakened, to make anything to eat. Breakfasts were easier than dinners, as far as finding things to cook, and with Megan there to advise and tell her where to locate things, Vanessa had had no trouble.

"Don't try orange juice, it would sting like crazy with all those cuts!" the blonde recommended, as she set a bowl on the table in front of Megan. "There's apple juice here."

"What is this?" Megan surveyed the bowl gloomily. "Oatmeal? But I don't like oatmeal…."

"You can't chew, darling, remember? " Vanessa reminded her. "Oatmeal will slide right on through, and it's filling. You didn't have any dinner last night." She bit into a toasted bagel.

Megan eyed her enviously, then poured milk on her oatmeal, added a couple spoonfuls of brown sugar, and reluctantly began to eat. "For oatmeal, it's pretty good," she admitted, after a few tentative mouthfuls. "You make it better than my mom does, Van."

Vanessa blushed. "Thank you!" she chuckled. "Coming from you, that's high praise! But remember, you're probably starving, which is why it tastes so good." She sipped her coffee, watching Megan's careful consumption of her breakfast, and thought about things. _If it wasn't for Frank and Joe,_ she mused, _Megan and I would never have met – never encountered each other. But because of the Hardys, I now have someone who's closer to me than a sister – my big sister, who's littler than me! I have other friends, sure – but there's nobody like Megan! She's the best friend I've ever had._

###

Although Frank had insisted he was going to call Megan first thing in the morning, it was nearly eleven before he finally made that call. He had wanted to phone much earlier, but Laura had strongly advised against it, and Joe and Fenton backed her up.

"Frank, for heaven's sake, let the poor girl sleep!" Laura had protested, when Frank had announced his intention at the breakfast table. "You waking her up at eight a.m. isn't going to make her feel any better!"

"Better listen to your mother, son," Fenton advised, glancing over the top of the newspaper page he was reading. He had felt very badly upon hearing the news of Megan's accident, for the longer he knew her, the fonder he was of Frank's girlfriend. Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, Fenton had called a florist early that morning, and ordered flowers delivered to her. A very _large_ amount of flowers.

"Yeah, bro – you want her to rest as much as possible, don't you?" Joe added his two cents' worth to the discussion as he was leaving for Wayne's World.

Overwhelmed by numbers, Frank glumly put off phoning his girlfriend, but by eleven o'clock, he could wait no longer. The phone rang several times, then Vanessa's clear voice came over the wires.

" _Wright residence."_

"Vanessa? It's Frank. How's Megan?"

"She's feeling better, Frank. She's been up, off and on, and she ate some breakfast. And she's made an appointment with someone to have her front tooth fixed, this afternoon."

"Can I talk to her?" Frank implored. "Please?"

" _Hold on—"_ Vanessa set the receiver down, and Frank heard muffled voices in the background. He waited, impatiently.

" _Frank?"_

"Baby!" The elder Hardy emitted a sharp sigh of relief. "Baby, how are you?"

A small chuckle reached his ear. _"Truth or pleasant fiction?"_

"Truth, please."

" _Horribly stiff and sore, and I'm tempted to wear a paper bag over my head,"_ Megan replied, _"but maybe it won't be so bad after I see the dentist."_

"Can I come over? Take you there?" Frank pressed.

"No, no – Vanessa's mom is coming over, to bring Van her jeep. And then we'll take Andrea back home, and then Van will take me to the dentist. We'd have just used Mom's car, but it's parked at the airport."

"When can I see you, Baby? Do I have to wait until it's dark again? You know I don't care what you look like!" Frank waited for her answer, holding his breath in anticipation.

" _I'll let you know later,"_ she hedged. _"Really, I'm not ready for public display, Frank. Or at least, I'm not ready for_ _you_ _to see me. I look incredibly awful. Maybe we can just talk on the phone, or something."_ A distant chiming sound came through the receiver. _"Oh, there's the doorbell—"_ A few seconds later, after more indistinct background noises and indistinguishable voices, he heard a shriek. _"Oh! Oh! Oh, they're beautiful!"_

"What is it?" he demanded. Megan sounded excited, and pleased, and anything that could please and excite her at this point had to be good. "Megan, what is it?"

There was more background babble between Megan and Vanessa, before she finally replied to his question. _"F-flowers…a_ _huge_ _bouquet of flowers…I mean, it's_ _enormous_ _– oh, Frank, your_ _dad_ _sent me flowers! Get-well flowers! Oh, is he there? Tell him thank you – oh, they're so beautiful!"_ She sniffled, apparently near tears.

Frank felt his mouth drop open, both in surprise at his father's action, and in chagrin that he hadn't thought of this gesture himself. "I – I'll tell him, Baby. He'll be glad you like them," he said lamely.

Another sniffle. _"Tell him I love them."_

"I will," he promised. "And speaking of loving things – Megan, I love you. Have I mentioned that lately?"

" _Not since yesterday,"_ she murmured – and sniffled again _. "I love you, too,"_ she added _. "I've got to go now. Andrea's here with the car."_

"Call me when you get home, okay? Promise?" he demanded worriedly. "And take it easy, huh? Stay lying down the rest of the time!"

" _I will – I promise. Bye, Frank."_ The receiver clicked back into place, leaving Frank feeling bereft, but somewhat relieved, all the same. He located Fenton in his den, and relayed Megan's message.

"That was really nice of you, Dad, to do that. Wish I'd thought of it," Frank said regretfully.

"When you're my age, you'll think of things like that," Fenton assured Frank, smiling, and winked. "However, it's not too late. She'd probably appreciate some from you too, you know."

"Hey, you're right!" Frank grinned at this sudden idea, and his father's encouragement. "I think I'll ask Joe if he wants to go with me to the florist's, when he gets home."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 8

The swinging door opened, and Megan emerged into the waiting room. Despite the cuts, bandages, and swellings, she was smiling, albeit a bit crookedly. "Thank you," she called back to some unseen person, probably the dentist, or the receptionist. She turned to Vanessa, who had been leafing through magazines while she waited. "Well?" she said, and smiled more widely.

Vanessa peered closely at her friend. "You're all fixed!" she exulted, and hugged Megan, careful not to squeeze too hard. "Megan, it looks wonderful! You'd never know anything happened to your tooth!"

"Not only that," Megan said, "Dr. Albritton gave me some topical stuff to put on the cuts. It's marvelous; it takes almost all the pain away immediately!" She sighed. "I feel so much better – but I'll admit, I'm tired and achy again. Now I sure sympathize with Frank and his whiplash last spring."

"You sympathized with him then, too," Vanessa reminded her. "Only now you know why he was so cranky all the time! Come on, I'll take you home, so you can rest." Vanessa urged her towards the door.

When they arrived back at Megan's home, the girls were astounded to see that something closely resembling a flower garden had taken possession of the front porch. There were two baskets of mixed flowers, a little glass vase of blue asters, and a plastic-shrouded spray of red roses and ferns.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Megan stared at the display. "What in the world…where did all this come from?"

Vanessa was examining the cards. "This one's from Joe," she announced, indicating one of the baskets. "That louse, he doesn't send me flowers! – This little one – my goodness, it's from Con Riley! How did he know? Oh wait, Joe talked to him last night. The roses…"

"Are from Frank," Megan smiled, looking at the card, then gathered the flowers into her arms and carefully inhaled their sweetness. "Although, if these make me sneeze, I'm not going to appreciate them nearly so much. I don't think my nose could take sneezing, right now! And Joe would send you flowers if you were in a car wreck, Van; you know he would!"

Vanessa laughed. "I don't think I want to try it just to find out. Take your roses inside and put them in water," she advised, picking up a basket. "I'll bring the others. This other basket is from…oh my." She sounded a little awed. "I think this is your mom's boss, isn't it? There's a title – Human Resources Director, Bayport Electric."

Megan checked the card. "Yes!" she marveled. "How amazing! Mom must have mentioned it, at the conference! Mr. Reznicek's nice, but I certainly never expected something like this!"

Once the flowers were arranged to her satisfaction, Megan took another prescription pain pill, and went to her bedroom to lie down again, for the tension in her neck was giving her a severe headache. She assured Vanessa that she would be fine alone, if the other girl wished to go on home, but Vanessa refused. "Maybe later," she said, "but not just yet. Especially if you just took one of those Happy Pills!"

While she waited for the pain reliever to kick in, Megan called Frank to thank him – and Joe – for the flowers, which she had set atop her bureau.

"They're absolutely beautiful, Frank! Thank you so much." She stretched herself on her bed and gratefully let her head sink into the pillows. She took one more look at the roses, then closed her eyes. "And tell Joe thanks for me, will you?"

"He says you're welcome," Frank relayed the reply. "When can I come over and visit, Baby? I don't mind spending time in a dark bedroom with you again, if that's the way you want it," he murmured suggestively.

"Later…" she replied, not really listening. "I'm falling asleep again. I'm sorry…." She forced her eyes open, and tried to brighten her voice. "My front tooth is all fixed!" she reported. Then she sighed. "But I'm afraid Joe's going to have a new nickname for me by tomorrow – Raccoon Face! Two black eyes. Ugh!"

"If he calls you Raccoon Face, I'll give him a black eye!" Frank threatened. "Baby, do you mean it; can I come over and see you after a while? Please?"

"Maybe." She stifled a yawn. "I've got to hang up now, Frank…Can't talk any more…call me later."

Left with a dead receiver in his hand, Frank muttered an epithet and hung up.

"Hey, bro." Joe tapped him on the shoulder. "What say we kick around the subject of the fires on the college campus? We haven't had time to talk about it much, since Megan's accident."

Frank turned and surveyed Joe thoughtfully. "Okay," he said at last. "Sounds good." He led the way to the family room, and sat down. "What have we got?"

Joe, who had spent the morning loading cargo at Wayne's World, and then had let himself be shanghaied off to a florist shop by the anxious Frank when he arrived home, sprawled out on the sofa. "So far, two buildings set on fire in the past five days. First, the Administration Building, second, the stadium and the new athletic center!" As he mentioned the last item, Joe's face took on an extremely woebegone cast. "The athletic center!" he repeated in a despairing tone.

"According to the paper, the investigators are pretty sure the second fire, at least, was arson," Frank added. "Hang on a minute." He went to the kitchen, momentarily rummaged in a drawer, and returned with a pen and some index cards, on which he began jotting notes as Joe talked. "I wonder if we could get any more information if we talked to Dani," he commented.

"You'd thought of that before," Joe nodded. "But you didn't follow up on it."

"I'd meant to call her before now, but then Megan got hurt…. Well, I'll call her in a little bit," Frank said, and returned to his note-taking. "First, let's think about a few things. For instance, what did the Administration Building and the stadium have in common?"

"Well, that's pretty obvious!" Joe snorted. "They're both on campus!"

Frank fixed him with his most piercing stare. "No duh, Sherlock!" He tapped impatiently on the table with his pen. "Maybe there's something more to it – use your imagination, please."

Joe returned glare for glare. "If there's another connection, I can't see it. The Administration Building was just that – administration. Offices, money, grades, records, clerks…boring stuff. The stadium, on the other hand, was solely sports. Athletics. Athletics are a big money-maker for schools—"

"Not community colleges!" Frank interposed, but Joe plowed ahead with his comments.

"—advertising, athletic fees, costs of tickets for sporting events…now that I think about it, athletics probably pays for itself!"

"No!" Frank shook his head in vehement disagreement. "That's not usually true, and especially for a place like BCC, which doesn't have outstanding sports teams. The money makers are the big Division I schools. You said yourself that the football team sucked."

Joe cast him a doleful glance, conceding the truth of that last comment.

"Think about it," Frank pursued his thought, "athletic scholarships – if Bayport Community even has any such—"

"They have a few. Nothing big."

"—equipment, travel, salaries for coaches and trainers – all that is expensive," Frank continued. "I doubt that the athletic program even breaks even, but schools keep sports teams for exposure and visibility. To attract students!"

"True," Joe admitted. "I might not have chosen to go to BCC if they didn't have the sports, even if it is close to home."

"There you go, then," Frank said triumphantly. He frowned down at his index card. "That didn't help any," he conceded, with a wry chuckle. "The buildings weren't the same age – the Admin building was old, and the athletic center was almost new. One had students in it all the time, the other doesn't. Nothing matches, except that they're both BCC buildings!"

He set down the pen and reached for the phone with his good arm, as Joe shrugged and let the conversation drop. After looking up the phone number, Frank momentarily transferred the receiver to his left hand, holding it awkwardly while he dialed with his good hand, then switched the receiver over, holding it against his right ear. After a few rings…

" _Bayport Fire Station 4, Rodriguez,"_ came a brisk male voice.

"Could I speak to Dani Tanner, please?" Frank requested.

" _Name?"_

"Frank Hardy."

" _Hold on…"_ The clunk of a receiver being set down came through clearly.

Frank waited patiently, listening to background noises and idly watching Joe, who had rolled off the couch and was doing pushups on the family room floor while he waited for Frank to finish his call.

" _Hey, Frankenstein!"_ A warm female voice floated through the receiver to reach Frank's ears.

"Dani!" Frank broke into a grin at her use of the nickname she'd coined for him during the CPR refresher course – one which sounded odd to everyone, but which she insisted was really a compliment: a combination of 'Frank' and 'Einstein.' "How's the most gorgeous firefighter in the state of New York?"

" _Flattery gets you nowhere,"_ she drawled. _"So you can stop buttering me up. Why are you calling me? As if I didn't know…."_

"Smart as well as beautiful," Frank said sweetly, disregarding the eloquent gagging noises Joe was making from the floor. "What can you tell me about the fires at the Bayport Community College, Dani?"

" _Who says I can tell you anything? And besides, what business is it of yours?"_ she asked warily. _"Has Hardy Investigations been called in?"_

"No," Frank conceded, "but Joe and I are students there, so we're indirectly involved. Come on, Dani, if you know anything, spill!"

" _Well, okay….You've probably heard the news reports,"_ she said, lowering her voice. _"The second fire – the stadium and sports complex – was labeled arson right away. What hasn't come out yet is that the first one also was set."_

Frank caught his breath, grimly pleased that the two incidents were, indeed, connected. Joe stopped doing pushups and sat up, his attentive blue gaze fastened on his brother.

"We figured as much. Any suspects?"

" _No that I know of. A college campus is a really hard place to spot an arsonist; there are people coming and going all over the place at all times of the day and night. And there are multitudes of targets! What's more,"_ Dani continued, _"there's something that won't come out in the papers, Frank: these fires were chemical in nature – they burned at unbelievably high temperatures. It takes something special to make rock and brick walls burn like the Administration building did."_

"What sort of thing?" Frank demanded.

" _Can't say. I have my guesses, but nothing is confirmed,"_ Dani told him regretfully.

"Could you let us know if you do find out for sure?"

"I could. I can…I shouldn't, but I will," Dani said quietly. "I've got to go now – you be careful out there, Frankenstein!"

"You too, Dani." Frank replaced the receiver and turned to Joe. "Arson – chemically aided arson." He sat back on the couch, his brow furrowed in a dark frown.

Joe scowled too, but more in meditation than anger. "What are you thinking?" he asked after a few moments, when Frank didn't speak.

Frank raised his eyes from the carpeting in front of his feet and stared at Joe. "That so far, the arsonist has been lucky. So far, no one's been killed in these fires. But if he doesn't stop, pretty soon his luck is going to run out." Frank adjusted his sling, grimacing with discomfort. "I just don't want it to be either of us….But Joe – this guy has to be found and stopped, before somebody gets burned – or killed!"


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Rokia HDA

Chapter 9

Megan's nap stretched to nearly three hours, and when she awoke, Vanessa reluctantly informed her that really, she needed to go home.

"Are you sure you'll be all right by yourself?" the blonde girl asked worriedly. "If you're not, I can come back later—"

"Of course I'll be all right!" Megan scoffed. "I'm not incapacitated, just ugly! I'm feeling a lot better. And I can get myself something to nibble on, now that my mouth's better."

Vanessa gave her a long, reproving look. "You aren't ugly. You're not quite as pretty as usual, but you're not ugly."

Megan sighed gloomily. "You know I'm not going to agree with you, so don't bother trying to convince me, Van." She looked about her, suddenly seeking something. "Do you know what happened to my book bag? The EMTs gave me my purse, but – what about my books?"

Vanessa frowned in thought. "I don't recall seeing it. I'll bet it got left in your car, honey. You should be able to get it back from wherever they towed your car."

"This is late Saturday afternoon, and the body shop's closed! And it won't be open tomorrow. Oh, great! I have homework, and no books!" Megan's voice was tense with frustration. "What am I going to do?"

"Call someone who's in your classes," was Vanessa's sage advice, and with a fond hug, she departed for home.

Left alone, Megan decided to take Vanessa's advice. She consulted her student directory, glad that it had been at home, and not in her bag. She didn't know too many people in her classes as yet, school had been in session less than two weeks.

 _Think, girl…who's that guy who was across the aisle from you in Music Appreciation? He's in your American government class too, and those are classes that you had assignments in.…Kirk Somebody. Or was it Luke? No, it's Kirk. Kirk…Monroe…Monahan…Moncrief. That's it, Moncrief. If you can use his books, and borrow Frank's history text, you won't get too far behind…._ Hopefully, she leafed through the directory, looking for the name. There it was!

She dialed the number, waiting through several rings before it was picked up, envisioning Kirk Moncrief. _Short, stocky, scraggly brown hair and blue eyes. Poor complexion, and he looks like he's attempting to grow a beard to hide it. Totally unprepossessing and forgettable –_ _Frank Hardy he's not!_ she thought, with an inward smile, mentally comparing Kirk with Frank's dark, lean good looks. Kirk _looked_ quite innocuous, but she had found he possessed a biting wit, often making undertone, caustic comments in class. He'd seemed friendly enough, to her, but then people were usually friendly to Megan.

" _Hello?"_ The voice was male, and slightly familiar, with the sardonic overtones she recognized.

"Kirk? This is Megan Wright, from your Music Appreciation and American Government classes…"

Megan went on to explain her difficulty, and to her relief, Kirk seemed perfectly willing to share his textbooks for the weekend.

" _Sure, no problem. I've already done the assignments, so you can keep the books until Monday. Um…you_ _are_ _going to be in school on Monday?"_

"I'm not positive," Megan admitted, gingerly touching her face as she spoke. "It sort of depends on how I look – uh, feel – by that time. But I'll get your books back to you Sunday night, just in case."

Kirk got her address, and promised to deliver the books within the hour, then hung up. Megan ruefully surveyed herself in a mirror _. I look like a bad joke. Well, at least my teeth are back to normal…._ She wished she didn't have to let anyone else see her, even Kirk Moncrief, but at this point she had no choice. _It wasn't like I could ask him to leave the books on the doorstep, after all…._

As promised, Kirk arrived shortly and rang the doorbell. Megan admitted him, trying to smile, hoping he wouldn't be too horrified by her appearance. "Hi, Kirk; thanks a lot. I really appreciate this."

"Like I said, no problem." He surveyed her candidly. "Wow, you did kinda do a number on your face, didn't you? You doing okay? You said your car was wrecked?"

"Yes, totaled. I'm pretty much okay – sorry for the horror show," she apologized.

He grinned, mockingly. "Even at your worst, Ms. Wright, you still look good. Unlike some of us." He paused a moment. "I guess there were quite a few car accidents yesterday. I heard of a couple, anyway."

"Were there?" Megan was mildly interested, shared misery being better than solitary.

"Who hit you, do you know?" Kirk asked, curiously.

Megan flushed. "I don't know. Isn't that ridiculous? But I was knocked out for a little bit, and pretty upset – and although I suppose the guy left his name, and license number and all that, with the police, I never actually talked to him. I saw the car – it was big – full-size, I mean – and brown….They took me off in the ambulance right away, and I didn't feel like asking, afterwards. I didn't care who hit me, I just wished he hadn't! I know my mom knows, though – she's talked to the insurance company. But she won't be home until tomorrow. And quite frankly, as long as the insurance comes through, I don't care who it was."

"Oh, yeah – I see your point. Well, I'm really sorry you got hit, anyway." Suddenly seeming flustered, Kirk turned to the door, his color high. "I gotta go – I'll swing back over and pick up the books tomorrow night, if you want."

"Okay. If I'm going to be at school on Monday, I'll call you," she replied. "Otherwise, I can just give you the books here. I'll call by – oh, say four o'clock tomorrow."

"Sounds good – later!" Kirk took his departure, nearly scuttling down the porch steps to his car. Megan closed the door behind him, and took the borrowed textbooks into the family room to do her work.

She was just finishing when the telephone rang.

"Hello?" She smiled in anticipation, having a good idea who the caller might be.

" _Baby! How're you doing?"_

"Hi, Frank. Pretty good – I've been doing homework, can you believe it? I had to borrow the books from someone; mine are still in my car. Which reminds me – can I borrow your history text, please? Right away?"

" _Sure. I did the assignment last night, after you made me go home. But I thought you were supposed to rest,"_ Frank chided.

"Reading isn't strenuous," she said, smiling a little. "Neither is writing answers to questions. It's not like I'm playing tennis, or something!"

Frank's spirits rose; she sounded almost like her old self. _"Can I come over and see you now?"_ he coaxed.

She hesitated. "I…I don't know." Her hand went instinctively to her face.

" _Please, Baby – we can turn the lights off if you want, but just talking to you on the phone isn't good enough."_ Frank made his tone as persuasive as possible. _"I need to_ _see_ _you!"_ He paused a moment, then continued with his wheedling. _"Hold you…kiss you…tell you in person that you're beautiful and I love you….And besides, you want my book,"_ he finished triumphantly.

A coaxing Frank was someone Megan found it hard to say no to. "Wellllllll…okay. For a little while," she gave reluctant consent.

" _Yeeessss_ _! Be there in 15 minutes!"_ The receiver went down with a bang, and Megan was left listening to a dial tone and wondering if she'd made a serious mistake in allowing this visit, book or no book. Deciding to make the best of it, she repaired to the bathroom to see what she could accomplish with concealer makeup.

 _Well, I've done the best I could._ She'd managed to replace the gauze patch on her forehead with a large Band-Aid. She'd attempted to work the adhesive tape off her nose, but desisted; _that_ was way too painful, and she'd had to admit it probably was not a good idea anyway! Megan glared balefully in the mirror at the fat little blob which her ordinarily attractive nose had become. Her eyes were continuing to darken with bruises, but she'd been lavish in her use of concealer around them, and she'd applied mascara heavily in hopes of directing attention to her eyelashes, instead. She'd flicked powdered blush onto her pale cheeks; and although she hadn't been able to do anything about her cut lips, at least she had intact front teeth now. Still, she was extremely apprehensive over this upcoming meeting. _What if – after all – he takes one look and it's_ _Adios_ _,_ _senorita_ _!_

When the doorbell rang, Megan had to force herself to walk to the door, and she shivered as she opened it. She'd purposely left the hall lights off, so the entry was deep in shadows, despite the soft light from the not-yet-set sun.

"Hey, kitten." As if he sensed her reluctance to admit him, Frank's greeting was subdued. "How's my girl?" He stepped over the threshold, reaching for her hand.

"Ah – okay, I guess." She kept her face tilted towards the floor, unwilling to give him a clear look at her features. "Did you bring the history book?"

"Yes, here." Frank extricated a book from where he'd cradled it in the crook of his cast, and set it on the hall table, then pulled her close with his good arm, his embrace exceedingly tender. "Oh baby," he murmured, "do you have any idea how much I've worried about you today?" He brushed a light kiss on her hair.

"No," she whispered, and nestled her head against his shoulder, turning her face away from him. He was being very careful, she noted, to not stare directly at her. _Trying to be tactful…_ she thought sadly. _Or he doesn't want to look because he knows it's so awful…._

"Lots and lots and lots," he informed her, making her laugh at the simplistic reply. "Come on and sit down – or better yet, lie down." Frank propelled her through the darkened hallway, in the direction of the family room. "You're supposed to be resting, remember?"

"I've been resting – all day, practically!" she protested, but allowed him to guide her anyway. When they reached the family room, however, she halted, shivering again. There was too much light streaming in through the windows for her comfort.

"Frank, I – maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe you should go on home. The way I look—"

"Nope, it was a perfectly good idea, and we're going to get this over with." Frank's mellow voice was suddenly firm. "Let's see the worst, Baby. I promise I won't run screaming out of the house!" Inexorably, he steered her to a seat on the couch and sat beside her. She hunched over, covering her face with her hands. Very gently, he touched her hair, stroking it lightly. "Look at me, Megan. Please."

 _Please, oh please, oh please please please…please don't despise me…._ Slowly, she sat up and turned towards him, closing her eyes as she had done with Joe. Seconds ticked by. Megan held her breath, waiting, rigid with tension.

"Megan Wright, in my eyes, you're still the most beautiful girl in the world," Frank said softly, at last. "And I'm crazy about you – and I think I want to beat up the guy responsible for making you hurt like this, even if it was an accident!" he finished, his tone hardening. Very tenderly, he brushed the edge of his thumb across her cheekbone. "Now can you relax, please?"

"No, I don't think so," she said, her eyes still closed, but there were traces of amusement in her voice now, as well as tension. "I've been obsessing about it for 24 hours now, and I can't just stop."

Frank snorted with laughter, and then cuddled her against him with his good arm. "Try anyway," he said soothingly. "Listen, baby – you can wear dark glasses to hide the raccoon eyes," he told her, with the assurance of one who'd survived numerous assaults and injuries. "Oh…maybe you can't," he retracted, frowning. "It would hurt your nose….Well, maybe they won't turn too black….The swelling should be mostly gone in another 24 hours, so your nose will be back to normal – in size, anyway," he chuckled. "Your tooth's okay now, and mouth cuts heal fast. That just leaves that nasty ol' gash on your forehead—" he paused to plant a light kiss next to the Band-Aid. "and it hardly shows at all, if you keep your bangs brushed down. The only parts that will take awhile to go away are the bruises and the whiplash – and that doesn't even show! But I know how much it hurts," he added sympathetically.

She sighed. What seemed to Frank inconsequential sounded to _her_ insurmountable. "I guess so," she murmured drearily.

"I know so….Okay, I didn't come over here to lecture, I came over to keep you company and cheer you up!" Sensing her despondent mood, Frank immediately sought to divert her. "So what do you want to do? Watch TV? DVD movies? Play _Monopoly_?" He elevated one eyebrow meaningfully. "Make out?"

"Frank!" Megan turned scarlet, but couldn't stifle her giggles at that remark.

"It was just a suggestion," he defended, delighted that he'd managed to make her laugh. But…

"Can't—" she said wistfully. "My lips are too sore."

He grinned wickedly. "I can find other places to kiss than your lips."

"All those places hurt too," she grumbled. "And…uh – I hate to admit it, but I still kind of have a headache…and it hurts to turn my head. Even kissing you sounds too…too hard. I'm sorry…." There was no mistaking the misery and apology in those turquoise eyes.

Frank stopped laughing, and gently kissed her cheek. "I didn't expect you to recover miraculously overnight, baby. I know you're hurting, and you'll be hurting for a while yet. So let me try to make it better – and then let's opt for watching TV."

They had watched television or videos scores of times from that couch, or the sofa in the Hardys' family room; usually with Frank's head in Megan's lap. This evening he insisted that _she_ lie with her head on a pillow in _his_ lap. Too dejected to argue, his girlfriend meekly took the aspirin tablets Frank advised, and they made themselves comfortable.

"This is nice," she admitted, after a few minutes. "But I'm afraid I might fall asleep. Some hot date, huh?"

Frank just smiled. He didn't care if she fell asleep – in fact, holding her while she slept sounded like a very pleasant way to spend the evening. He reached for the remote controls and turned on the TV set.

#####

"Baby?"

"'m not asleep…not quite." Megan didn't open her eyes.

"I was just going to ask about the homework. You didn't actually bring your books home, after the accident?"

"No." Megan smiled and blinked her eyes open drowsily. "I wasn't that smart – or rather, I wasn't thinking that straight. If I had been, I wouldn't have needed you to bring your history text over here. They got left in my car. I told you – I borrowed books from Kirk Moncrief."

Frank felt a very unusual sensation pierce him: a stab of jealousy. _Kirk Moncrief? Who's Kirk Moncrief? She's never mentioned any guys…._ "Who's that?"

"Guy in my American Government and Music Apprec. classes. He brought his books over." Her eyes drifted closed again.

"Oh." _She didn't have any problem letting_ _him_ _see her, but_ _me_ _, on the other hand…._ "That was nice of him."

Something in Frank's voice caught Megan's attention, for she suddenly opened her eyes fully and stared up into his face. "Frank Hardy, whatever you're thinking, stop it!"

He reddened. "Was it that obvious?"

"I borrowed books from the guy, you moron! And if you saw Kirk Moncrief, you'd know you didn't have anything to worry about!" she sputtered, half-laughing and half-indignant. She wriggled to a sitting position. "Besides, I'm not exactly date bait at the moment, remember? If you'd like to hear his reaction to seeing me, it was something on the order of 'wow, you sure did a number on your face!'" She chose not to include Kirk's comment that even at her worst, she still looked good.

Frank laughed, and hugged her gently, feeling relieved. "Baby, you're still date bait." He patted the pillow in his lap. "Now lie down again; you're supposed to be resting."

"Just for a little while longer; you need to go home," she reminded him. "I don't need babysitting overnight again, you know. And my mom's going to be home tomorrow morning."

Frank sighed. He didn't want to go home. Now that Megan had relented in her stand against letting him view her battered face, he hated to leave her alone. "You sure you'll be all right by yourself?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now are we going to watch this movie, or not?"


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 _Note: It is quite evident that readers do not care for Megan Wright in this story. As the subject of her damaged looks and how she feels regarding them is going to crop up again and again in the story, I respectfully suggest that perhaps you do not bother to continue reading it. It will only annoy you. Thank you for the time you spent reading so far, and I'm sorry it was a waste of time for you._

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 10

Laura Hardy laid the last napkin in its place on the dining room table, and opened the buffet drawer. Gathering up a handful of silverware, she proceeded to arrange the place settings on the table, next to her best china plates. Crystal wine glasses came next, each one placed precisely at the point of the table knife. She stepped back and surveyed the table closely, then snapped her fingers softly and located the silver salt-and-pepper set in the china hutch. Again she stepped back and looked over her handiwork.

 _Plates…silver…wine glasses…water glasses._ She glanced at the buffet top, where a bottle of white wine waited, chilling in a bed of ice, and went on with her mental checklist _. Flowers…relishes…salt and pepper…._ Everything seemed to be in order. Laura picked up a fallen chrysanthemum petal from the tablecloth, then turned and went into the kitchen.

She stood and mentally went over dinner: the chicken was in the oven, ready to be arranged on its platter. The potato salad and tossed green salad were in their bowls, waiting in the refrigerator. The glazed carrots and buttered zucchini were simmering on the stove. The rolls were on their baking sheet, ready to pop into the oven. Everything was ready.

 _I'm so anxious to see Erica Ranson again!_ Laura thought, smiling. _Michael too, of course, but especially Erica!_ The young woman had been so sweet and shy on the Lake Tahoe cruise where they had met, and Laura had immediately had warm feelings for her, even though Erica wasn't much older than Frank. Erica and Michael were obviously deeply in love, and Laura was delighted to be renewing acquaintanceship with them. _It will be nice to have a quiet dinner with friends – or potential friends – like this!_

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Laura hastily stripped off her apron and hung it on its hook, then hurried into the living room just as Fenton ushered their guests into the entry hall. _They look just the same as they did last month in Tahoe…._

"Good to see you, Michael—"

"It's so nice to see you again…"

"Thank you so much for inviting us…"

"We were so pleased that you called…"

Welcoming phrases entangled themselves; cordial handshakes took place between dark, muscular Michael and Fenton, tentative hugs between Laura and fragile blonde Erica, who smiled brightly at them all.

"We really appreciate this so much," the blonde girl said.

"We certainly do!" her husband chimed in. "We've been on the move so much lately, I don't think we've had many good home-cooked meals since we've been married! And something smells terrific!" he added, sniffing the succulent aromas rapturously.

They all laughed. Laura was irresistibly reminded of her own sons; despite the difference in ages, Michael Ranson had a charmingly youthful enthusiasm about him.

"I need to do a few more things," Laura began to excuse herself, "but I'm sure Fenton can entertain you—"

"Please, can I come with you? I'd love to see your kitchen, and maybe I can help," Erica said hopefully. Laura nodded, and led the way to the kitchen, while Michael and Fenton headed for the den and a pre-dinner drink.

"Mrs. Hardy, your house is absolutely lovely; it's beautiful, and yet it feels like a home – it's comfortable and welcoming!" Erica exclaimed as they entered the kitchen. "I can hardly wait until Michael and I can be settled into our own place and I can set up house like I've been wanting to do!"

"Please, call me Laura….You've been traveling all this time, then?" Laura asked, whisking the pan of rolls into the oven after removing the chicken.

"Yes – oh, don't misunderstand me; I absolutely loved our travels, and I'm so lucky to see so much of the world that I might not have gotten to, otherwise. Michael's wonderful – absolutely wonderful – and he treats me like a queen!" Erica said, with a happy little laugh.

Laura smiled as she transferred the chicken to a large platter, then got the bowls of salad from the refrigerator. "Enjoy it while you can, then!"

"I will!" Erica walked to the window to briefly admire the view of the back yard. "How are your sons?" she inquired politely, after a moment. "I heard in Tahoe that they'd both been hurt while you were there – are they all right now?"

"Yes, thank goodness!" Laura nodded, pausing in her task of putting the vegetables in a serving dish. "Joe's recovered from his concussion, and Frank's broken arm is healing quite well. They're both in school – college, that is, at Bayport Community. Although there has been some trouble there recently—"

"I read about that in the newspaper!" Erica exclaimed. "Fires! That's so awful! Aren't you worried about them being on campus there – afraid that they might be hurt?"

Laura smiled ruefully. "I'm always concerned for them – always worried about them. Who wouldn't be, since they insist on taking after their father!? But I've learned that stopping them from being detectives – or going to school, or just about anything else! – is impossible, so I don't try."

"I couldn't do that," Erica shuddered expressively. "I'd be too frightened that something awful might happen! I mean, I worry about Michael, and he doesn't do anything dangerous like your husband and sons! But I'm afraid sometimes that he'll work too hard, and overdo. We travel so much because of his business…."

"What sort of business is Michael in?" Laura inquired. "I don't think I ever heard you mention…?"

For the first time, Erica sounded a trifle evasive as she replied. "He…owns a large business…it has many different interests. Diversified things. And sometimes he acts as a consultant for some of his in-laws' businesses."

"It must be nice not to have to worry about next week's paycheck," Laura observed mildly, not appearing to notice Erica's hesitancy.

"It certainly is." Erica's eyes twinkled as she made her reply. "Laura, is there anything I can do to help? Please let me?"

"Thanks, honey, but I think we're just about ready, as soon as the rolls are done. We can set things on the table in a few minutes. Would you like a drink before dinner?"

"Just a glass of water, please," Erica requested, and Laura poured her one, from a pitcher in the refrigerator.

#####

Fenton and Michael Ranson were comfortably ensconced in chairs in the family room, becoming reacquainted with their casual conversation.

"…and we were down south for a couple of weeks. The weather was so damned hot; I'm glad to get out of it."

"It's been nice here; we're having a very pleasant fall so far," Fenton observed, swirling ice cubes in his glass. "Do you follow sports at all, Michael? Baseball? Basketball?"

The husky dark-haired man grinned. "Oh yeah – I'm one of those hated Los Angeles Lakers fans."

Fenton chuckled. Personally, he had some affection for the New Jersey Nets, and Joe was a die-hard Knicks fan. Basketball season was sometimes quite acrimonious in the Hardy household. "Too bad they folded in the playoffs last year – well, maybe next time."

"And I pay enough attention to baseball and football and hockey that I can discuss them intelligently if I have to," Ranson said. "It's something a businessman has to do; it helps with networking. Officially I'm for the Miami Dolphins, the Detroit Redwings, and anybody but the Yankees!" He joined in Fenton's hearty laugh at this admission. "How are your boys, Mr. Hardy? Will they be here tonight? Erica and I've never met them, you realize?"

"No, afraid not – and make it Fenton, please, won't you? They're doing quite well. Perhaps you can meet them soon; they both had plans this evening. Joe had dinner plans with friends; Frank's girl was in a car accident yesterday, and isn't feeling too well just now, so he went over to visit her."

"I'm sorry to hear that!" Ranson shook his head. "Is that the same one who had the video camera stolen? Is she okay?"

"The same," Fenton nodded, "and yes, she was banged up some, but she'll be feeling better soon." He smiled reflectively. "Frank will do his best to make sure of that."

"That's good. I'm glad." Michael Ranson paused a moment, then plunged into the topic at the forefront of his thoughts. "Mr. Hardy – excuse me, Fenton – I have a request to make of you."

"Oh?" Fenton hid a smile behind his glass. He'd been waiting for this. "Let's hear it."

"I'm looking at a business in the area. I'm always looking to expand my business ventures, and it just so happens that an area I've been wanting to go into is in Bayport. It's a glass textiles company."

"Markham Glass?" Mr. Hardy inquired, lifting his brows.

"That's right," Ranson smiled, "It's been making great strides in glass strength. And now they're experimenting with adding a mix of plastics, to be stronger and thinner – but better!"

Fenton nodded. "I've heard about it. I know something of the company; I do keep my ear to the ground quite a lot," he admitted with a wry grin.

"Great!" Michael Ranson nodded with enthusiasm. "I was hoping that you did! The truth is, I'd like you to do some checking for me, if you could."

Fenton nodded again encouragingly, and waited for details.

"Markham Glass seems to have wildly fluctuating funds," Ranson stated soberly. "There's nothing consistent about it, and I can't figure out why it's happening, even after looking at the books and reading all the reports. I have a suspicion that something fishy is going on, and I'd like you to figure out what's going on, if possible. Do you think you could look into it for me?"

"I'd be quite willing to check it out for you, Michael; all I need are the particulars of the problem, and a contact person inside the company."

"I'll be more than happy to provide you with whatever you need," Ranson said. "I don't think it will take you all that long – at least I hope it won't – and it really would help me feel more secure about making the purchase…or not making it."

"Then I'll start working on it as soon as you can get the information to me." Fenton looked up, as Laura entered the room, followed by Erica.

"Dinner is on the table, gentlemen," Laura announced, smiling, and led the way to the dining room.

Over dinner, which the Ransons devoured as if they hadn't eaten for a week, the foursome chatted about many things. Erica and Michael told of their stay near Lake Tahoe, where they had remained after the Hardys' departure, and of their recent trip to New Orleans.

"Have you ever been there?" Erica asked, glancing at her host and hostess. "There are things that are lovely – the flowers, and the architecture – and things that are horrible, like the weather. And I have to admit, I'm not real crazy about Cajun-style food."

"She liked the _beignets_ and _café au lait_ at the Café du Monde, though!" her husband put in, his eyes twinkling, and Erica wrinkled her nose saucily at him.

"I did," she readily admitted. "But so did you. And so does everyone else!"

"I hope that you like apple pie too," Laura told them, rising to clear the plates before dessert. Michael nodded, making appropriately enthusiastic noises, and Erica immediately jumped to her feet to offer assistance.

Over dessert, Michael Ranson made an inquiry – and a proposition. "What are the golf courses around here like?" he asked. "I'm not an rabid golfer, but I like to do it fairly often, to keep in shape."

"There are two, the public course, and the Bayport Country Club," Fenton replied. "Both are quite nice. I must admit, I haven't played in quite a while myself."

"Would you consider a round, tomorrow morning?" Michael lifted inquiring brows. "Either course would be fine with me."

Fenton's lips quirked in a self-deprecating smile. "You sure you want to? I suspect you're far beyond my league!" He paused. "Hmmm…would you consider having a third person along?"

"Sure!" Ranson nodded. "Who do you have in mind? One of your sons?"

"No," Fenton denied. "But we have a friend – a charter pilot – who might be available. His name's Jack Wayne. The boys both work part-time for him. I might give him a call, and see if he's interested." He pushed his chair back from the table, preparing to go to the telephone.

Michael Ranson smiled and nodded again. "Please do!"

While Fenton made arrangements with Jack, who turned out to be at home, available, and agreeable to a round of golf, Michael and Erica helped Laura clear the dining table and begin the task of doing the dishes. As they worked, the ladies discussed the possibility of a shopping trip in the near future. Erica seemed delighted at the prospect of the outing, especially when Laura suggested that she see if others, such as Andrea Bender, Carolyn Wright, or their daughters, be included.

When the kitchen was tidy again, however, the fragile blonde girl pleaded weariness, and suggested that she and Michael take their leave.

"This was so much fun, and you were wonderful to have us here! Laura, the food was scrumptious! I hope we can get together for that shopping trip soon!" Erica bubbled, as they stood in the front hallway, making their farewells. She impulsively hugged them both, first Laura and then Fenton.

Fenton smiled down at her indulgently, and then turned to Michael. "I'll see you tomorrow at 8:00. You have the directions to the country club – and Jack will meet us there."

"Great!" Ranson grinned and shook hands again.

The front door closed behind them, and Michael and Erica walked to their car, hand in hand. As they reached it, Erica turned to her husband casually.

"Well…did he go for it?"


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 11

The sound of a power lawn mower awakened Frank, and he lifted his head slightly to look at his beside clock radio. _Seven-thirty-five._ He yawned, wondering why the Hardys had to be blessed with neighbors who mowed their lawns early on Sunday mornings, then rolled onto his back and attempted to get comfortable enough to doze off again.

Five minutes later, he knew it was no use; the lawn mower was simply too loud and intrusive. But he refused to give in completely and get up; instead, he kept his eyes shut and thought about the previous evening….

###

Megan had fallen asleep almost as soon as they stopped talking. Rather than wake her when the movie was done, Frank had simply let the television stay on, with the sound fairly low, and held her quietly while she slept, occasionally stroking her hair gently with his good hand. She had looked so peaceful and relaxed, despite the angry-looking cuts and livid bruises on her face; he rejoiced that she was starting to recover, even while his heart ached with pity for her pain.

It was very late when she finally stirred and opened her eyes. Frank smiled down at her.

"Have a nice nap?"

"Yes, but….What time is it?" The girl lifted her hand to see her wristwatch, and gasped. "Oh heavens, Frank, you were supposed to have gone home ages ago! Why did you let me sleep?" Megan sat up.

"Because you needed the rest, and I didn't want to disturb you," he replied, reasonably. "And besides, I like watching you sleep."

She laughed a little, but at the same time was scrambling to her feet and tugging at his hand. "You have to go home—"

"I will, I will," Frank assured her, rising. "But first, Baby, I'm going to make sure you're settled for the night."

She eyed him warily. "You are, huh? And just how were you planning to do that?" Although she looked slightly suspicious, there was a distinct light of mischief in those bruise-encircled eyes.

"You know what I meant; stop trying to give me ideas," he grinned. "Go do whatever it is you do to get ready for bed, and then I'll take off." Gently, he pushed her in the direction of the hallway. "No arguments."

She yawned, then winced. "Okay – okay, no arguments. Give me…five minutes."

It was closer to fifteen minutes than five, but finally Megan emerged from the bathroom. When Frank approached, however, she waved him back.

"Not a chance; stay away. All my makeup's off, and I look like the loser in a boxing match. Go on, Frank, I'll go right to bed. You just go on home." She stifled another yawn.

"But – but I want to kiss you goodnight!" he protested. A sudden thought struck him, and he reached for the light switch at the end of the hall. "Stand still; stay right there," he commanded, and flipped the switch. Suddenly the hall was shrouded in shadows; only a tiny bit of light reached them from the family room. Frank walked cautiously through the dimness.

A gentle collision halted him, and he felt Megan's arms go about him, and her head laid against his shoulder. He bent his head and softly kissed her hair.

"Goodnight, Baby," he murmured. "Sleep well – did you take something?" he added, in concern, "So you can sleep?"

"Um-hmmm," she nodded against him. "If I make it as far as my bed before I'm asleep, I'll be doing good!"

"Call me in the morning, okay? Or when you wake up, anyway. At home, or on my cell."

"Okay," came the drowsy response.

Frank kissed her one more time, then carefully turned her in the direction of her bedroom, and gave her a gentle push. "Straight ahead, and turn right when you hit the end of the hallway," he instructed his sleepy girlfriend. "I'll lock everything up on my way out. See you later, Baby." He stayed where he was until he saw the lights flash on in her bedroom, then he went back to the family room to switch off the lights there.

Before he departed, however, he left a note for Carolyn: _Dear Mrs. Wright – It's now 1:38 a.m., Sunday. Megan seems to be doing okay – If there's anything I can do, call me, for any reason. I'll plan on being over to see her this afternoon, unless she needs me earlier. We've tried to take good care of her. Frank._

Finally admitting his weariness, he took his leave, carefully locking the doors behind him.

###

That was then, this was now. Frank stretched luxuriously, then sat up and swung out of bed. He was still sleepy, but he and Joe had arson crimes to investigate! _Even though we told Dad we'd stay out of it unless we were asked,_ he admitted sheepishly to himself. _Joe wants to – he's raring to go, especially since the stadium was torched! Trust Joe's priorities to be in order!_ He grinned at the thought, then sighed with frustration as he began to slowly work his way through his one-armed morning routine. A punctured shoulder and a broken arm were better than being dead, he supposed, but they sure made life inconvenient!

###

"Morning, Mom." Frank stepped into the kitchen and greeted his mother, who was glancing through the Sunday paper and sipping a cup of coffee. He gave her a brief hug, and headed for the cupboard where the coffee mugs were kept.

"Morning, honey. You're up early, for a Sunday morning. How's Megan?"

"It was the lawn mower next door…. Megan's doing better." Frank inhaled the coffee's enticing aroma before taking a careful swallow of the scalding-hot beverage. "She slept most of the evening, though. Her mom's supposed to get home some time this morning, from Philly."

"I have some things to take over there later," Laura said. "We have leftovers galore from last night – no reason for Carolyn to have to cook!"

"Last night….Oh, yeah – how'd the dinner go?" Frank took another cautious sip.

"It was fine – nice to see the Ransons again. You didn't meet them, did you, when we were in Nevada. They're a nice couple – newlyweds!"

"Huh-unh." Newlyweds didn't interest Frank much – at least, not newlyweds he'd never met!

Laura chuckled. "It's too bad Megan's not feeling well – and tomorrow Vanessa will be in school. We're thinking of going shopping, maybe this afternoon, or tomorrow – or maybe later in the week. Erica and I and possibly Andrea Bender. I'll ask Carolyn too, although I suppose she'll be tied up at work tomorrow, and probably will want to stay with Megan today. But Erica's a lot younger than the three of us, so it would have been nice to have the girls along."

Mention of his girlfriend caught Frank's attention, but the words _going shopping_ made him tune out again. He yawned, and kept sipping coffee.

"Michael Ranson had a case for Dad," Laura went on. She got up from the table where she was sitting, and began setting out cereal, juice, and milk for Frank's breakfast, since he didn't seem to be doing it himself. "Checking into something with Markham Glass."

"A case? Really?" _That's a little more interesting than shopping!_ Frank noted. "Where is Dad, anyway?"

Laura smiled. "He's playing golf with Michael and Jack Wayne." Deciding that her eldest son wasn't really in the mood for chatter, she returned to scanning the newspaper.

"Golf?" Frank stared at his mother incredulously. "Dad doesn't play golf…I mean, he doesn't play very…umm…often," he finished lamely. The words ' _doesn't play very WELL'_ hung in the air, unuttered. Laura smiled behind her newspaper page. She knew exactly what Frank meant, and he was quite correct.

"He plays well enough for something like this," was all she said.

"Jack's not much of a golfer either," Frank mentioned, just in case Laura hadn't known that fact.

"It's just for fun, Frank, they aren't playing for a trophy. Michael was the one who suggested it, and Jack certainly didn't have to agree to play!"

"Hmmm…the Ransons and you seem to have really hit it off." Frank poured himself a bowl of Cheerios, and a glass of orange juice. He began to eat, absently, as he went through a mental checklist of the things he needed to do that morning. _Campus….The stadium…maybe the Admin building site…see if Dani's come up with anything new….check with Megan…._

He was just completing his contemplations when noises from upstairs caught his attention – thumps and bumps. Evidently, Joe was up, and from the sounds of it, running into all the furniture and walls! Laura chuckled, and left the room, evidently intending to make sure Joe didn't fall down the stairs, too!

Frank was finishing his coffee when Joe stumbled into the kitchen, eyes half-shut, barefoot and clad only in blue pajama bottoms, his blonde hair tousled into little tufts which stuck out in several odd directions. Seemingly oblivious of his brother, he walked directly towards the coffeemaker, poured himself a cup, and took a quick gulp. Only then did he turn around and acknowledge Frank's presence.

"Morning," he mumbled, running his free hand through his tangled hair, and taking another swallow of coffee. He blinked at Frank owlishly. "How's Megan?"

"She's feeling better," Frank informed him, fighting not to laugh out loud at Joe's disheveled appearance. "Carolyn's getting home this morning, remember? I'll go over and see Megan later, after her mom's had time to make a fuss over her, and pamper her for awhile."

Joe smiled sleepily at that. He stretched, arching his back, then leaned against the counter and continued drinking his coffee.

"Would you mind getting a move on?" Frank prodded, slightly annoyed. "We have work to do this morning!"

"Like what?" Joe asked, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow in his brother's direction. He ambled over to the refrigerator and got out the orange juice.

"We wanted to go over to the campus, remember?" Frank reminded him impatiently.

"Oh." Joe nodded sheepishly, and sank into a chair at the table. He yawned, blinked drowsily, then reached for a box of dry cereal and poured himself a bowlful; added milk, and began to eat.

Frank watched him, mouth twitching. _Okay – how many spoonfuls will it take before he realizes that he's eating Froot Loops…and remembers that he hates Froot Loops?_

Unaware of Frank's covert amusement, Joe kept eating, with an occasional sip of juice or coffee interspersing the bites of cereal. "Nice dinner with Andrea and Vanessa last night," he mumbled. "I think the main topics were either Megan or the arson fires the whole evening, though! Well, and the latest _Rex Rover_ show, naturally."

"Not surprising," Frank nodded and grinned, still watching Joe closely.

"I wonder if Dani's come up with any more information for us? Where do you want to start checking around, anyway?" Joe put another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"I want to start at the stadium, I think," Frank said. "Will you hurry up and finish, please?"

Joe started to reply, and then abruptly stopped chewing and stared down into his half-emptied bowl. "FROOT LOOPS! I hate Froot Loops!" He made a face, and a few gagging noises, and promptly got up to dump the contents of the bowl into the garbage disposal. "Why didn't you tell me I was eating this?" he demanded of his brother, who was by now convulsed with laughter.

"What, and miss all the fun?" Frank looked at Joe's disgusted face and doubled over again.

"Ugh!" Joe shuddered. He got a clean bowl, returned to the table, and poured more cereal, this time checking the box carefully. "Ahhh, that's more like it!" He took a bite, and sighed blissfully.

Frank, observing that this time Joe was consuming _Captain Crunch_ , shuddered himself.

Eventually, Joe finished his cereal and juice, poured another cup of coffee, and departed to shower and dress.

Later than he liked, but not too late in the overall scheme of things, Frank managed to prod Joe out of the house and into the Aztek, and the two headed for the Bayport Community College campus, to see if they could get a good look at the fire damage. Joe finally was fully awake, and was humming along with the CD player as he drove through the Sunday-morning-quiet streets.

While they were en route, Frank's cell phone rang. He glanced at the display and smiled happily. "Good morning, Baby!" he greeted the caller. "How'd you sleep? Are you feeling better?"

" _I slept like a log, and I'm feeling…okay. Not great, but believe me, 'okay' is a whole lot better than I felt yesterday!"_ Megan replied, chuckling.

Frank heaved a relieved sigh. "That's great!"

" _Mom called – she's going to be home in about an hour,"_ Megan went on. _"Don't expect to hear from me after she gets here, Frank – at least not for a while. You know how over-protective she gets!"_

Frank grimaced a little; he recalled all too well how Carolyn cocooned Megan and prevented him from seeing her, after her near-brush with death the previous winter. "Maybe it won't be so bad this time," he encouraged. A sudden thought struck him. "Megan, I know how to distract her – get her started thinking about having to replace your car! After all, you need one right away, or you can't get to school – right?" He chuckled. "Although I'll be more than happy to pick you up and bring you home, until you get one!"

Stunned silence met his ears, to be finally broken by a soft laugh, then a sigh. _"It's a great idea – but you just traded my mother being upset for_ _me_ _being upset! I don't_ _want_ _to replace my car – I liked the one I had!"_ She laughed again. _"Yes, I know, I'm being irrational!"_

"Baby, take my word for it, no matter how much you liked the Accord, you'll love having a newer car!" Frank assured her. "We'll talk more about it this afternoon. And you be sure and get lots of rest, okay? Let your mom coddle you for awhile."

"Okay, okay, I will. I'm going to go finish that history homework now, so you can have your book back. I hope I can get my own books back tomorrow. Love you – Bye!"

"Love you, Baby – I'll talk to you this afternoon!" Frank shut his phone and returned it to his pocket, feeling much better about Megan. _Now_ he was ready to tackle this mystery!

"After we poke around a little, I'll call Dani, and see if the accelerant's been identified," he said to Joe, as they pulled into the parking lot closest to the remnants of the stadium and athletic center.

"I read up on some chemical substances in my chem. book," Joe offered, much to Frank's surprise. "There are quite a few good ones, but only two or three that really burn hot enough to do the job."

Frank blinked. "You did? I didn't think you – I mean, I'm surprised that you did so much work on this already—"

Joe's forehead knotted, and he gave Frank a distinctly hurt look. "I'm not just a dumb jock, you know!" he retorted, evidently stung by the implications of Frank's remark.

"No, of course you're not!" Frank hastened to agree, and tried to make amends. "I didn't think you'd had time, that's all!"

"Well, I was waiting for Vanessa," Joe admitted, "and the chem. book was sitting right there. I figured it wouldn't hurt to look, while I was killing time." He shut off the car's engine, and removed the key from the ignition, then leaned to delve into his pants pocket. "I wrote a list…."

After hearing Joe's list of possibilities, Frank nodded approvingly. "Good job! There are a couple of those that have a distinct odor – it would make them easier to identify—"

"If someone could I.D. the odor, then the fire department would already know what was used," Joe pointed out. "So it's probably not an accelerant with a distinctive characteristic like that. But any of the hydrocarbons would work. Methanol, for instance. And you can get it at any drugstore. Hydrogen gas would burn the best and hottest, but it's harder to get." He paused, then hazarded a guess. "I wonder if they're in the college lab, though?"

Frank blinked again, scarcely believing he was hearing these words from Joe's lips. When had he learned all this? "Uh – probably," he conceded. "College must be doing you some good, little brother. See how much smarter you are already?"

The expression on Joe's face told Frank he was on thin ice. He wasn't sure if Joe was mad, or his feelings were hurt, but either way, Frank wasn't on his brother's list of favorite people at the moment! He decided to go easy on the gibes for a little while, until Joe's temper cooled down. Getting in a scrap with him wouldn't help their investigation any!

They got out of the Aztek and Joe conscientiously locked the vehicle; then the two began walking slowly towards the ugly hulk which had once been the school stadium and the new athletic facility. As it had been with the Administration building, the sharp tang of smoke still hung in the warm September air. A few other curiosity-seekers were likewise strolling about, but for the most part the brothers walked in relative privacy.

"It's not fair," Joe muttered, and Frank glanced over at him. He could see that Joe was, at the very least, extremely irritated. _No, it's more than irritated,_ he decided. _Joe's irritated, and resentful, and chagrined, and mad clear through! And who knows what else?!_

"We were supposed to play our first game yesterday!" Joe burst out then, furiously. "My first game on a college football team, Frank! But you know what? Our uniforms burned up! All our equipment burned up! We were supposed to play on this field – and since it happened right before the weekend, they couldn't even reschedule it for anywhere else! We don't even have anywhere we can practice, not on a regular basis! It won't matter if we don't get to play, because without practicing, what's the use of holding the game anyway?"

"They'll try to fit it in at the end of the season, won't they?" Frank tried to sound soothing, although he suspected Joe was in no mood to listen to reasonable alternatives. "And you'll get your practice times in, the coach will see to that. They'll get more uniforms and equipment. You'll get to play yet, Joe!"

"Yeah, right." Joe stalked across the ash-strewn lawn, his shoulders slumped, and his fists balled up at his sides, staring bleakly at the remains of the buildings.

Frank sighed as he followed Joe, shifting his sling in a futile effort to get a little more comfortable. He knew his younger brother enjoyed being a detective more than anything, but he also really liked playing football! _He's got a right to be upset…and he's exercising that right for all he's worth!_

As was his usual habit, Frank scanned the territory as they approached the site of the fire. _Even part of the field burned_ , he mused. What was left of the stands was a stark modern sculpture in black-and-gray twisted steel girders, half-melted and reformed as they cooled. Where concrete had been was now a crumbling mass of rubble. _We won't be able to get too close; that place is dangerous…and not only that, it's cordoned off!_

"This is just too much!" Joe exploded suddenly. "Why would someone do something like this? This is a community college, not some big university! Not that I think people should burn down stadiums at big universities; I just mean…" Abruptly, the fury faded, changing to an expression of weary despair, and Joe let his voice trail off into silence. He sighed, shook his head, and trudged glumly onward.

"Joe, take it easy—" Frank didn't say anything more; he wasn't sure Joe was listening to him anyway. He concentrated on looking around. As he had anticipated, they couldn't get all that close; there was a guard patrolling the area surrounded by yellow plastic tape.

Frank walked as close as he could to the tape, accompanied by Joe. The guard eyed them warily, but as the Hardys didn't make any attempt to breach the barrier, he didn't say anything. They walked on, crunching over the cindery ground, both of them scanning the grotesque remains carefully.

"Look," Frank murmured, "doesn't it look like it started over there?" He pointed to one end of the stands. "It worked its way across, to the other end, and then down. And then it went across the field, see where all the grass burned? And then into the athletic center along the access road."

"And it didn't burn anything except that one path in the grass," Joe commented bitterly, "because that's where the accelerant was spread, no doubt." He sighed sharply. "I want this creep!"

Frank nodded. "I know you do. So do I—" He paused, frowning, for his eye had been caught by something white, fluttering on a nearby telephone pole. A flyer of some sort, remarkably unscorched, uncharred, unmarked by the fire. The pole on which it hung, on the other hand, was blackened with charring and soot. "Joe, take that down, will you?"

Joe complied with the request, grimacing as he managed to get grimy just removing the paper from the pole. He examined it, and turned it over, frowning, then handed it to Frank. "Here."

Frank took the flyer and looked closely at it. It seemed to be an announcement for an upcoming meeting of the Students For Earth organization. "Huh. The S.F.E."

"What's that?" Joe inquired, slightly puzzled.

"It's a group here on campus—" Frank began, but broke off. "This was put up after the fire," he noted. "It's not burnt at all, there's just some soot on the back, from being tacked to the pole."

He turned about in a slow circle, looking for more of the papers. "There are more of these, on all the poles still standing."

"There." Joe nudged him sharply, and pointed. A short distance away, a young man with what appeared to be a bundle of these same flyers tucked beneath one arm, was just finishing tacking another to a pole. "Let's ask him what's up with the advertisements!" He took a step forward, and then shouted: "Hey, you with the fliers! We want to talk to you a minute!"

But even as Joe spoke, the young man turned and saw the Hardys staring at him. He froze for a moment, then abruptly swung about, dropping his leaflets, and took off across the grass in the opposite direction, running frantically away from Frank and Joe!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world.

Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 12

Joe was in motion almost before the other man was – somehow, he had instinctively _felt_ that he was going to run! Well, he was going to catch him, and get some answers about these fires, if at all possible!

 _It isn't_ _just_ _a case,_ Joe thought as he charged across the grass, _it's personal! I might not think all that much of the Bayport CC football team, but it's all I had!_ _And if this guy knows something about the arson – why else would he run, after all – if he knows something, then I'm going to find out what it is!_

 _I wish I'd gone to a big school with a_ _real_ _football team!_ Joe's tumultuous thoughts kept time with his pounding feet. But even as that thought crossed his mind, it was dismissed. _No, no, I'd never have been able to do that, not break up the partnership Frank and I have, just to play football somewhere! And I couldn't move away from Vanessa! Nope, no way! Well, two years, and then maybe I can transfer to a four-year university, and Vanessa can too…._ He didn't pursue the thought further; who knew what _Frank's_ plans might be, two years from now?

In the distance, Joe could see his quarry – dark hair and khaki shorts and a blue t-shirt on a slim body – and this guy was fast! Joe was doing his best, and he wasn't falling any further behind, but he wasn't catching up, either! Joe took a deep breath and poured on a little more speed, as he saw the man dart across the street, and then head into the parking lot, cutting across with a distance-eating effortless stride.

Joe swerved after him. He didn't have time to glance back and see where Frank might be. He knew it was highly unlikely that Frank would be able to keep up, anyway. To run well, you needed both arms, for balance and momentum. Frank couldn't use his left arm; that would throw his stride off. _And besides,_ Joe thought, _it still hurts him! Trying to run would jar it like crazy!_

Joe was starting to feel winded himself, now, and he could sense a headache starting to develop. _Darned concussion! I'm supposed to be all over it….Whoever this kid is, he's part gazelle!_ Joe gulped in another solid breath, and tried to lengthen his stride a little. _Whoever he is, he's – mine! There is no way I'm giving up…but_ _damn_ _, he's fast!_

For a moment or two, Joe was aware only of the sounds and sensations of running – the soft pounding of sneaker-clad feet hitting the pavement, the sound of his breathing harsh in his ears, the sibilant rush of blood inside his head, the feeling of his arms pumping strongly as he continued the chase. Ahead of him, he could see the slowly-enlarging figure of the man he was pursuing. He was faster than Joe, but evidently lacked the younger Hardy's stamina.

Joe now realized where his quarry was heading – the gymnasium! The guy ducked around the corner at the front of the big building. Joe followed, racing around it just in time to hear the solid _THUNK!_ of a door slamming…one of the big main doors into the gym. A predatory grin curved Joe's lips: he knew he had him now _! Everywhere in there – even the hallways on the other side – echo! Anywhere he goes, I can find him! It should be totally quiet in there on a Sunday morning, except for him!_

Joe yanked open the outer door, hurled himself inside, then went through the next door, and stopped, letting it close gently behind him. Then he stood still and listened intently. _That's funny…it's quiet. Why can't I hear him anywhere? I should at least be able to hear_ _breathing_ _, even if he stopped moving around…._ But all he could hear was the sound of his own panting breaths.

A sudden idea struck, and Joe abruptly turned right and opened another heavy door – and stepped into the Natatorium, the large, lush swimming pool area. As Joe entered, he heard running footsteps slap the concrete, and spied a moving figure sprinting along the edge of the big pool, heading towards the deep end – and the exit doors at that end of the enclosure.

"Hey!" Joe barked, and the single syllable bounced off the walls. "Hold it right there!" The guy turned his head, and Joe caught sight of his features for the first time. He inhaled sharply. _I know that guy!_ "Dave! Dave Wahlstrom! It's Joe Hardy! Hold on!"

Unfortunately, the young man disregarded Joe's hail. He kept moving, and when he turned to look back at Joe, his feet carried him perilously close to the edge of the pool. Before Joe could shout a warning, the young man hit a puddle, skidded, and with a panicked yell, abruptly tumbled into the clear water of the swimming pool!

"Whoa!" Joe leaped forward, attempting to avoid the slick spots. He watched the other man surface and begin to ineffectually struggle towards the side of the pool. "Can you make it out okay?" he called, starting to feel slightly worried. They'd run a fair distance, after all, and _he_ was feeling tired; he suspected the boy floundering in the pool was exhausted too! He moved to the pool's edge. "Dave?"

The guy in the pool paddled towards the ladder attached to the side of the pool, but his strokes were slow and awkward. Running might be Dave Wahlstrom's forte, swimming evidently was not! Before he reached his goal, Dave began to struggle, then he suddenly gasped and slipped beneath the water's surface.

Joe didn't even hesitate; his dive carried him halfway across the pool, and he had to take only a stroke or two to reach the other boy. He pulled Wahlstrom to the surface, towed him to the side of the pool and shoved him up onto the painted concrete decking, then hauled himself out and sprawled next to him.

"Th-thanks!" Dave coughed a couple of times, and sat up. "I – I didn't intend – to do that!" He coughed again, and heaved a tired sigh.

Joe sat up too, and began squeezing water from his clothes. "No, I'm sure you didn't," he said grimly. He surveyed the other boy, trying to remember what he knew about him. _Dave Wahlstrom – in my graduating class, but I didn't have many classes with him. He was on the track team with me, though – sprinter. Ran the 100-meter, and the 200. He was super-fast…he won almost every meet, senior year. Medals and ribbons and trophies galore – took first at the state meet in the 100. But he couldn't run anything past the 200-meter….That's why I managed to catch up with him._ Joe suspected that his workouts with the football team had aided him, too. Dave probably wasn't in quite as good shape as Joe was – he likely hadn't done any serious running since the end of the high school track season.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, catching their breaths and wringing out their garments. Joe took some deep breaths, inhaled too much chlorine-laden air, and coughed harshly. _Nasty stuff!_ He decided to breathe more shallowly until they left. He certainly wasn't leaving until Dave did, chlorine or no chlorine! Joe wanted answers, and he was going to get them!

"Okay, what was the idea of running, when you saw us?" Joe demanded at last, his gaze boring into Wahlstrom. "What were you doing, anyway? And why did you run?"

Dave Wahlstrom shrugged noncommittally, and shook the sparkling drops of water from his dark hair. He shoved it back, and ran his hand over his face, stripping the water droplets off. He kept his blue eyes downcast, not meeting Joe's.

 _He's stalling…._ "Come on, Dave, what gives?" Joe repeated, just as the door opened once more, and Frank walked into the pool area. Joe sighed silently in relief at seeing his brother. He'd begun to worry about his whereabouts. The relief was short-lived, however; Joe noticed that Frank was slightly out of breath – and he was grimacing, and holding his left arm, obviously in pain. _Uh-oh._

Frank looked around, catching sight of the two occupants of the room, and taking in their sopping-wet condition with some surprise. He managed to keep a fairly straight face, but a sound suspiciously like a derisive snort emanated from him as he approached.

As Frank entered, Dave Wahlstrom struggled to his feet. Joe quickly moved to prevent any escape attempts, but all Dave did was move towards one of the blue-and-white-striped deck chairs, and sit down. Joe followed suit.

"About time you showed up," Joe tried to make his tone casual, but the glance he shot at Frank was filled with worry.

Frank, seeing the concern, managed a wink and a smile of reassurance, and eased himself into a third chair near the other two. The warm, chlorine-filled air swirled mistily around them. "I took the scenic route." He eyed Joe and Dave curiously. "Nobody told me we were having a pool party."

"It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing…. Frank, you remember Dave Wahlstrom, from high school, don't you?" Joe offered a semi-introduction, trying to ease the tense situation just a little.

"One of the best sprinters in the state," Frank nodded, and smiled at Wahlstrom, who tentatively returned the smile, then quickly resumed staring at his sodden shoes.

"Dave was just about to tell me why he didn't want to talk to us," Joe said, in a deceptively mild tone. "Weren't you, Dave?"

Wahlstrom looked up, a little wild-eyed. "Whatever you think, I didn't do it! You should know better than to think I did it!"

"Did 'it?'" Joe leapt on the phrase. "Did what? Did I accuse you of 'doing' anything? I asked why you ran. Why you didn't want to talk to us. And what were you doing out there? Why are you acting so guilty, if you didn't 'do' anything?"

"Joe…." Frank's quiet voice was a sharp contrast to Joe's vehemence. "Why don't you give Dave a chance to talk?"

Joe nodded, slightly ashamed of himself. He turned back to Wahlstrom. "Sorry, Dave, go ahead."

"I ran away because…oh, come on, you know what kind of a reputation you two have! I was in the area of an arson fire, putting up advertisements for a group that some people think is seditious…." Dave stared at the Hardys miserably. "I could tell what you thought. When you yelled, I was…I ran because I didn't want any trouble."

"Wow, our reputation precedes us," Joe said, his tone laced with sarcasm. "I never realized we were so threatening!"

"You're not – not exactly threatening, but…but….Anyway, yeah, I'm a member of Students For Earth," Dave began, his voice low. "I joined the first day of school. It's a really interesting organization – but believe me, the members don't go around burning down buildings! We're peaceful! Sometimes we hold rallies, and sometimes we stage protests, sure…and sometimes we pass out leaflets, and petitions, and encourage people to write to their Congressmen. But never anything dangerous – never!" He looked at Joe pleadingly, then shifted his gaze to Frank, who seemed a little less skeptical. "You've got to believe me!"

"They why were you tacking fliers near the scene of the fire?" Frank asked very quietly.

Frank continued, since Dave hadn't answered his question. "Don't you think that it looks incriminating? Especially since you took off like a scared rabbit when we approached you….People might assume the S.F.E. is responsible for the fire, if your fliers are all over the place right afterwards."

"But we're not!" Wahlstrom protested. "We just wanted the fliers to be seen, that's all; that's why I was putting them up there. I know that people will come to see the burned buildings, so I figured it was a good place for the S.F.E. posters to be noticed!" He looked downcast. "I didn't realize how it would look…." He sighed. "I knew it was a mistake to try to get away from you."

"How do we know you're telling the truth? Can you prove you weren't around when the fire was started?" Joe prodded, scowling at him.

Dave Wahlstrom shrugged helplessly. "Thursday night, right? I was out on a date. After that, I was at home, asleep."

Frank nodded, apparently accepting the explanation at face value. Joe wasn't entirely convinced, but Frank shot him a warning glance.

"Thanks for talking to us, Dave," the elder boy said. "Sorry if we spooked you."

"Yeah….Look, I have to go." Dave got to his feet. "I should finish hanging the rest of the posters, and then I want to go home and get some dry clothes. Thanks for fishing me out of the pool, Joe. See ya around." He pivoted, and hurried towards the door without a backward glance.

"Dave, wait a minute—" Joe stood up too, but his plea fell on deaf ears; Dave was out of the door before he could finish the sentence.

Joe whirled to face his brother. "Do you believe him? It looks darned suspicious to me! Much too convenient a coincidence!" He paused, frowning reflectively. "But Dave Wahlstrom was always a nice guy, in high school. He wasn't part of the radical crowd at all. Not the sort I'd connect with burning down buildings."

"Well, it is suspicious," Frank admitted, slowly getting to his feet. "We'll need to find out more about Students For Earth, I think. But I doubt that Dave, personally, did anything, other than volunteer to tack up those fliers. And to be quite honest, I've never heard anything bad about the S.F.E. They're around campus; I'd heard of them last year. They held a big Earth Day rally last spring. They staged a couple of protests, and they've been around offering to put people in touch with their Congressional reps. But nothing dangerous, that I know of."

"Maybe they've changed M.O.s," Joe offered gloomily.

"Perhaps." Frank nodded. "That's why we're going to check them out, and if we find anything odd, we'll let Con Riley know about it!"

"That would blow our cover," Joe protested.

Frank gave him an incredulous look. "What cover? We really are college students – remember? And I didn't say we were going to infiltrate the group, just find out about it!" He chuckled and shrugged, then winced, his right hand going to gently grip his left arm, above the cast.

"What did you do to it?" Joe asked, stepping closer and reaching to lay a careful hand on Frank's injured shoulder. "I saw you when you came in; you're hurting again."

Frank glanced at his brother and grinned a little, moving back a step. "You're all wet," he observed, "I want to hear about that, by the way!"

"Yeah, yeah, in a minute," Joe replied impatiently. "Quit trying to change the subject. Now tell me, what happened to your arm?"

"Nothing, I just jarred it, trying to run." Frank waved his concern off, striving for nonchalance. "It'll be fine. I know better; I shouldn't have tried to do it, that's all."

Joe wanted to smack him in the head, but he managed to produce a teasing smile, instead. "Old age catching up with you again, huh? Once upon a time, a broken arm wouldn't have slowed you down so that you couldn't catch a suspect—"

"Maybe you'd like a broken arm, to find out what it's like?" Frank moved threateningly towards his younger brother, a dangerous glint in his brown eyes. "Or would you rather have another dip in the pool? Besides, you were chasing him; why would I need to?" He moved a step closer.

"Have to catch me first!" Joe gibed, and took off out the door as fast as he could go. He heard Frank yell something or other, no doubt insulting, behind him, but he just kept trotting – and he didn't stop until he reached his Aztek. He searched the trunk, and found a towel to dry off his still-dripping hair. He was glad that the upholstery was leather, and wouldn't be damaged by his wet clothing.

Joe slid into the driver's seat and went back for Frank. He found his brother strolling along the sidewalk, and slowed the car. He lowered the window on the passenger side, letting the Aztek creep along.

"Want a lift?"

"Yeah." Frank waited for Joe to stop, then got in. "Let's go over by the Admin building. We've seen all we can see at the stadium; we can't get near enough to do any real digging around."

"And you want to call Dani," Joe reminded, following the winding road through the campus.

"And I want to call Dani," Frank nodded. "Now," he continued, looking at Joe's bedraggled appearance with amusement. "Why don't you tell me why you and Dave Wahlstrom felt it necessary to go swimming?"

Joe snorted. "I chased him into the pool area, and he kept running, the idiot! He slipped and fell in…and when he tried to swim to the edge, he had some trouble. I went in after him, that's all."

Frank whistled softly. "Well, good for you!" he commended. Joe blushed slightly, and gave him an embarrassed smile.

Their wish to 'dig around' the rubble left from the torched Administration Building was left unfulfilled; the clean-up crews had virtually eliminated any chance for clues by this point. The area was deserted; even the curious no longer were stopping by. Frank surveyed the scene gloomily from the car window, and then motioned to Joe to drive on.

"There's no use even parking; there's nothing left to look at," the elder Hardy commented. "We might as well go on home so you can stop imitating a drowned rat."

Joe, although he'd been game to continue investigating, wet clothes notwithstanding, nodded grateful agreement. Sitting around feeling squishy and damp wasn't one of his favorite things to do.

"Maybe Dani will have come up with something for us," he suggested, and headed for the exit and home.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world.

Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 13

Laura Hardy smiled at her companions as they walked through the spacious Bayport Westgate Mall. Three lovely blonde women out for a Sunday forenoon shopping spree, Laura, Andrea Bender, and Erica Ranson were enjoying themselves immensely, and their enjoyment was evident on their happy faces.

 _It's so nice to have a day out of the house to spend time with people other than just family!_ Laura mused, as they paused to examine a window display of fall clothes. _As much as I love Fenton and the boys, there are just some things that women like to talk about with other women – things that don't interest men!_ With an inward sigh, Laura conceded that having Fenton's sister living with them had been a boon in some respects. Now that Gertrude was living in Florida, and Laura was the only female occupant of the house, the testosterone levels in the Hardy home sometimes rose to unbelievable heights – especially when all three men insisted on getting into danger at the drop of a hat – which they seemed to do with unsettling regularity!

 _Doctors. Lawyers. ACCOUNTANTS. Even a sports writer. I'd have taken any of them – and what do I have? Three detectives in the family!_ _Maybe Mother was right, all those years ago, when she questioned my dating a policeman!_ The thought made Laura laugh out loud, eliciting curious glances from Erica and Andrea.

"Sorry!" Laura apologized, still smiling. "I was just thinking about the boys." She chuckled. "Include Fenton in that category," she added.

Erica looked a little blank, but Andrea nodded in acknowledgement. She, at least, knew what it was like; she'd been associated with the Hardys long enough to follow the mental short-cuts, and she sometimes experienced the same sorts of mind-drift regarding them.

In an effort to pull her mind away from her husband and sons' predilections for peril, Laura launched into a tale of Gertrude's amazing news.

"We had a call from Gertrude the other evening," she began. "That's Fenton's older sister, Erica; she used to live with us, but she moved to Florida a couple of years ago."

Erica nodded her understanding, and Laura continued: "At any rate, she said she was calling to get information from Fenton on some legal points, but as he said later, she could have gotten that from a lot of places; she didn't need to call him."

"So why was she calling?" Andrea asked with interest. "Gertrude doesn't usually just call to make chit-chat, does she?"

"No," Laura replied. "She doesn't – well, she calls to let us know everything's all right with her, every week or so. However, during the course of this conversation, she managed to let it be known that she's 'seeing' someone – she called him 'a special friend!'"

"NO!" Andrea gasped, and began to laugh with delight. "She's dating? Is it serious, do you think?"

"I have no idea," Laura admitted, "but I do rather hope it's semi-serious, at least. Gertrude deserves to have a little fun in her life, even at this late date!"

"What's his name? I assume he's retired – what did he use to do?" Andrea demanded.

"His name is Jordan Chamberlain, and apparently he's a writer – a mystery-novel writer!" Laura announced with glee. "Gertrude's helping him with research for his stories!"

At that, Andrea was too surprised to comment, and the three of them entered a store to look more closely at the displays.

Erica, although she was extremely pleasant, seemed to be extraordinarily shy. She smiled a lot, and always responded when asked a question, but she didn't volunteer much conversation on her own. Laura began to wonder if it was the company – were she and Andrea too much 'older' for Erica to enjoy being with? Should they have waited and done this shopping excursion when Vanessa or Megan – or both – could accompany them? She wished she could think of something to bring Erica out of her timidity, to break through the shield of reserve the girl had erected, but she didn't want to seem pushy.

They went from shop to shop, and although Erica didn't talk much, she wasn't hesitant about spending money! She did most of the purchasing; most often it was clothes for herself, but she also dabbled in perfumes, and jewelry, and more than once she picked up items that she thought Michael might like having: clothes, jewelry, small accessories, CDs.

"What do you think?" she was asking now, holding up a blue silk shirt for inspection. "Does it look like something Michael might wear, or am I just drawn to it because it would match his eyes?"

The other women considered the question seriously. Andrea hadn't met Michael Ranson, of course, but she had exquisite taste in clothes, although her everyday mode of dress usually consisted of jeans and an old shirt. Laura, knowing what Michael looked like, could give a more educated answer.

"I think you're right about the color," she nodded, "and since Michael dresses up for meetings with business associates, he'd have plenty of opportunities to wear it. I assume he owns a jacket that would go with it all right?"

"Yes…." Erica looked at the shirt again, then tucked the package under her arm and sought out a similar one in a light gray shade. "Does Mr. Hardy wear dress clothes most of the time too?" she inquired, her voice muffled as she shuffled through the pile of shirt packages.

"A lot of the time," Laura nodded. "But he wears his share of jeans and such, too."

Adding the gray shirt to the pile in her arms, Erica straightened up. "Laura, what's it like being married to a detective?"

"What's it like…?" Laura tilted her head inquiringly, and waited for an explanation.

"I mean – aren't you afraid that Fenton will get hurt, on a case – or killed?" Erica blurted, then blushed. "I'm sorry, that was dreadful of me! You don't have to answer—"

Although the girl's bluntness had caught her by surprise, Laura managed a somewhat strained smile, and endeavored to answer her question. "Yes, actually, I do worry about it. I worry about it a lot. I try not to, of course, but there are many, many times that I wish Fenton had a safer occupation."

"Have you ever thought about asking him to stop?" Erica asked. "Wouldn't he do it – for you? If you asked?"

Laura smiled at the innocence of this newly-married young woman, who, no doubt, had only to ask her wealthy and indulgent husband for anything her heart desired. "I've thought of it," she admitted, "but I couldn't do it. Fenton was a police officer when we met. I knew what I was getting into when I married him. And there would be something very wrong about my demanding that he stop doing what he does – and being what he is. Fenton is too good a detective to just stop, and do something else. It would break his heart and his spirit if he tried."

"And your sons? What about them?" Erica persisted. "You can't want them to be in danger, like Mr. Hardy is – can you?"

"Of course not," Laura answered patiently. "But the same thing holds. They're incredibly good at what they do, and although they might, out of love for me – or someone else—" she added, with a smile at Andrea, "try other careers, their hearts wouldn't be in it. It would stifle them, and they'd never be as happy in their work."

Andrea nodded. "I know what you mean," she commented softly. "After all, Vanessa's dated Joe for nearly two years. She knows – and I know – that it's not safe, being close to the brothers Hardy…but Joe makes Vanessa happy. Happier than she's ever been with anyone else."

"And Vanessa makes Joe happy," Laura smiled at her friend.

"I like Michael's occupation better," Erica sighed. "Being a businessman may be dull in comparison to being a detective, or a police officer, but at least it's a safe thing to do! He doesn't get into dangerous situations." She bit her lip, suddenly looking much younger than her 23 years. "I don't know if I could stand it, if Michael did something that could possibly get him hurt – or killed! It's too scary to even think about…."

Laura put a comforting arm about Erica. "It is scary," she conceded. "Remember what happened in August, at Lake Tahoe? Both my sons might have easily been killed there. Frank nearly was. And Joe was badly hurt in June. Fenton was shot, in January. And it wasn't the first time, not at all. All because of 'detecting.'" She paused, formulating her thoughts into words. "It's not easy to accept – it's times like that when I wish I could beg them to do something else with their lives, all three of them…but somehow, mysteries seem to follow them around! Even when they don't actively go out looking for them." She stopped again, then finally completed her thought – very quietly. "I just have to hope they don't end up getting themselves killed."

Erica nodded, and turned in Laura's embrace to hug her. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I think I understand a little better, now." Summoning a smile, the slender blonde held up her packages of silk shirts. "I'll get these – maybe we can find ties to go with them."

"I'm sure we can," Andrea assured her. "If not here, then certainly somewhere else in the mall."

Continuing their journey down the mall, the three women found ties to complement Erica's shirts; Andrea discovered a silken shirt for herself, which she declared was exactly what she'd been looking for, and Laura splurged on bath gels and matching perfumed lotions, and a long, satiny patchwork-print skirt. As it was fast approaching lunchtime, they headed for the food court at the end of the mall.

"If we're getting shopped out, how about a movie after lunch?" Andrea proposed, licking ketchup from her fingers as she consumed French fries.

Laura nodded agreement with this suggestion. "It sounds fine with me; the only thing I have to get home for is to fix dinner – oh, and to send things over to Carolyn Wright's, for their supper. As long as I'm home by four or so, it shouldn't be a problem."

Erica smiled. "I'd like it too. But can we agree on a movie?"

Discussion provided a surprising result: Erica, despite the age differences, liked the same kind of movies that Andrea and Laura did – romantic comedies were her favorites.

"It's fate," Andrea said briskly, and got to her feet to dump their lunch trash. "We're meant to go to a movie. Let's check the times for that new one with Sandra Bullock; I'm sure it's playing at the Cineplex here in the mall."

They took their packages out to their cars, and then set out for the opposite end of the mall, where the movie theaters were located. As they passed by a certain specialty shop, Andrea paused in front of the display window.

"Oh, I've been meaning to check out those robotic toys," she murmured. "I think I can use one for a part in _Rex Rover—"_

"Go ahead and check," Laura urged her, smiling. "We'll just walk slowly and window-shop; you can catch up with us."

"Well, all right." Andrea moved towards the entrance to the store. "I'll be as quick as I can—"

At that moment, a figure brushed past her and bore down on Laura and Erica – a man dressed in black, with a dark hood pulled close over his head and masking his features. Erica let out a startled cry as the threatening figure loomed – and then screamed again, as the man grabbed her purse from her hands, and started running!

#####

 _This is my own fault – but let's blame Fenton, instead!_ Jack Wayne was glowering silently at Fenton Hardy's back, as the third member of their party, Michael Ranson, lined up to tee off. Ranson's hands were wrapped about his driver – a club that, Jack suspected, might have cost as much as Jack's pickup – and his shoulders were beautifully squared. _He looks like a pro – he might as well be one,_ Jack mused resentfully. _Tiger Woods, or somebody. Ernie Els, maybe._ Jack stared up at the sky, which had started out a beautiful blue, but was now filling with threatening clouds. _Great. Rain. That'll put a total finish on the day!_ He glared at Fenton again, for good measure, just because he could do it and get away with it.

 _Last night, when Fenton called,_ Jack continued to sulk, _instead of saying 'How'd you like to chase a golf ball around eighteen holes?' he should have just said 'How'd you like to get your clock cleaned, Jack?' It would have been more honest! Well, I suppose he didn't know how good this Ranson guy was, either…._

 _ **WHACK!**_ Ranson's club hit the ball cleanly. He straightened up, watching it arc into the air, and Fenton shrugged resignedly as the ball sailed three hundred feet down the par-4 fairway, landing a good 50 feet beyond the sand trap where Jack's ball currently resided, waiting for him.

 _Fifth sand trap I've been in today!_ Jack hurled the mental complaint as if Mr. Hardy could read his thoughts. _Thank you so very much for a grand time, Fenton!_ Aloud, he managed a weak smile and a half-hearted, "Nice shot, Michael."

Some of Jack's resentment must have leaked through, for Fenton shrugged at him apologetically as he set his own ball atop a tee, and accepted a 3-wood from one of the caddies supplied by the country club. "Thanks, Rudolfo," he murmured. His shot didn't go as far as Michael's, but it didn't land in the sand trap with Jack's, either. No, it ended up five feet this side of the sand trap.

"Just great," Jack muttered, and handed his club back to the other caddy – a short, ineffectual-seeming guy named 'Pete.' _Why couldn't I have gotten a cute girl caddy, at least? No, instead Fenton pays my way, and I'm still stuck with good ol' Pete._

"I don't suppose you'd go for a little advice, Wayne?" Michael Ranson asked casually, as they began the trek to the fairway – or in Jack's case, to the sand trap.

"Can't hurt," Jack grunted, reaching for his pitching wedge – again. _I might as well just cart it around in my hand,_ he thought glumly. _Stupid game….I'm NOT_ _a golfer. Basketball – volleyball – tennis, even! But GOLF? Only masochists play golf…._

"Try changing your grip a little," Ranson advised. "Hold your hands a little further apart. And watch your back swing. You're slicing around, rather than going straight back. Slow the swing a bit, put a little more power behind it, get better control – that might help, old man." Michael was smiling genially as he spoke, but Jack didn't appreciate the attempt at humor.

' _Old man' – great! Just great! I'm the youngest of this trio, and he's calling_ _me_ _'old man.'_ Jack wasn't comforted by the fact that he could clearly see Fenton was struggling not to break out in hysterical laughter at this last interchange. _Fine – laugh at me, Fenton, see if I care!_

Jack trudged down into the rather deep sand trap, and used his wedge to blast the ball out of the hazard. He climbed out – just in time to see his ball spiral sweetly down…into the next sand trap, in front of the green!

Biting back bitter invectives which were surfacing in his mind, Jack turned to watch as Fenton made his shot. It sailed cleanly onto the green, about 25 feet from the hole. "Not bad, Fenton!" he managed to say, working up a cordial smile, and glowered up at the sky again, where the rain clouds appeared thicker than ever. _Four more holes,_ he informed the clouds. _Just four more holes, and then you can do whatever you want. Drown me, for all I care!_

He didn't think either Fenton or Michael Ranson would be likely to quit if it started raining before they finished the round – diehards, both of them! _But they're not the one in the sand traps! Not that I'm jealous, it's not that – not of anything other than Ranson's abilities at golf, that is!_

Finally, after one more pitch up out of the sand bar, Jack managed to get his ball onto the green. He stood aside as Michael Ranson competently putted his ball into the hole, then waited for Fenton to make his next shot, glancing up at the leaden sky. And then Jack let out a shout: "INCOMING!"

He saw Fenton jerk around, turning to see what had happened, just as a hail of golf balls thudded down, falling just short of Michael Ranson! Jack ducked down, instinctively shielding his head with his arms, and saw Mr. Hardy leap toward Ranson, protectively shoving him to the side – just as a second spate of balls descended. And Jack watched in horror as one of the balls struck Fenton squarely in the head, and his friend toppled limply to the soft turf!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 14

Frantically, Jack twisted and turned, trying to spot where the bombardment had come from – and beheld a strange, unsettling sight: Michael Ranson, scrambling to his feet from Fenton's push, but crouching down, wary eyes scanning the area, reaching with a swift, practiced, instinctive gesture for his left armpit, his hand curled slightly…reaching for something which usually was there, but was absent now. _A holstered gun?_ Jack wondered, but then hastily turned his attention to the detective lying at his feet.

"Fenton? Fenton, you okay? Can you hear me?" Jack knelt beside his friend, concern shading his voice as he attempted to rouse Mr. Hardy. To his alarm, he could see the older man had a fast-rising goose egg on the side of his head. _It's the size of a – a golf ball!_ Jack thought, feeling a tiny bubble of hysterical laughter rising inside. But he sobered quickly; the fact that Fenton wasn't responding to Jack's importuning, was frightening! Again, Jack glanced up at the sky, and the lowering clouds. _DON'T rain!_ he implored them. _Hold off until later! Don't you dare rain now!_

Michael Ranson dropped to his knees on Fenton's other side, looking as worried as Jack did. He looked up as Rudolfo pulled a cell phone from his pocket and started punching buttons. "Where the hell did those golf balls come from?" he demanded hotly.

"I don't know, Mr. Ranson—" Rudolfo paused in his summoning of help to shake his head. "I don't know. Don't move him, please; we'll get the EMTs here as quickly as possible."

"You don't need to tell me not to move him," Ranson grumbled quietly, sharing a look of mutual irritation with Jack Wayne. "Did you see where they came from, Wayne?"

"No," Jack admitted, "I just saw them coming down!"

"From that direction," Pete, the other caddy volunteered, pointing to the right, towards the tree line. "But I didn't see a specific place, just that general direction."

A groan from Fenton distracted Michael and Jack from their discussion, and they saw the older man's eyes blink open. "Wh-what the…?" He started to push himself up.

"NO! Stay still, Mr. Hardy, please." Michael's hand was firm, pushing down on Fenton's shoulder. "You need to lie still, help's on the way. Don't try to move around yet, not until the paramedics say you can."

"He's right, Fenton," Jack agreed. "You got hit in the head with a golf ball," he explained carefully, trying to abate the confusion he saw in his friend's eyes, "and you should stay quiet."

"But…I'm…okay – really." Again, Fenton attempted to raise himself from the ground.

This time, Jack's hand joined Michael's in preventing the movement. "Stay put!" The chastisement came in a duet from both young men.

###

"Stand back, get out of the way, back!" It seemed like it had taken forever, but only eight minutes had elapsed, Jack noted, looking at his watch, and now professional help had arrived – in the form of three firemen! No, two paramedics and one fireman. Fire…fighter.

The medics were male, but the third member of the group was female, definitely female. She firmly ushered Rudolfo and Pete back, as her partners moved to attend to Mr. Hardy, and Michael and Jack rose, too. Jack stepped back, to get out of the way – and to get a better look at this woman!

She was dark-haired, tall and slender in her black uniform pants and shirt. A ball cap rested on her head, and a long pony-tail of hair cascaded down her back, stuck through the hoop of the cap. Blue streaks gleamed in the dark tresses, glowing in the muted sunlight. He saw a name badge on her shirt: **Tanner, D**.

 _Beautiful….She's absolutely…wow! Not too sure about the blue locks, but…beautiful._ Jack gulped dryly, trying not to stare too openly. _Probably taken, too….Wow. Total knockout._ He moved slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman's left hand, looking for the sight of a wedding band, or a diamond ring.

She glanced up at his movement, and smiled reassuringly at him, her huge dark eyes warm. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll be okay," she murmured, "and these guys are tops." She gestured towards the two paramedics, who were doing all the usual things with penlights, blood-pressure cuffs, and insistent questions.

 _Wow…what a good-looking guy! He looks so worried – wonder if he's a friend, or a relative?_ Surprisingly, she felt her heart begin to beat faster, in an unsettling rhythm, as the young man's eyes met hers. _He's staring so…but face it, girl, you want to stare right back! Wonder who he is – wonder if he's_ _married, or has a girlfriend – or some sort of significant other? Surely he must; no one who looks like that could stay unattached, could they?_ She tilted her head a little, looking for the glint of a ring. _Not that it would matter – nobody wants to bother trying to date someone in my position…._ She listened briefly as the medics talked to the victim. _Hardy – is that_ _Fenton_ _Hardy!? Frank's father – wow, can you imagine that? Of all people I never thought I'd be treating on a golf course for a freak accident, Fenton Hardy tops the list!_ She glanced once more in the direction of the tall young man with the worried expression – and immediately dropped her gaze, when her eyes met his.

Jack sighed to himself _. Jeez, look at those eyes…a man could drown in 'em!. It's been a long time since I've had a date. All my time's taken up with the business – or with April! I love April dearly, but doggone it, my baby sister's got more of a social life than I do!_

"Mr. Hardy, we'd like you to try sitting up now," Paul Rodriguez, the head medic, requested after a tedious time.

Grumbling, Fenton did so, albeit very shakily. "I've been trying to tell you I could sit up," he muttered. One of the medics handed him an instant-ice pack, which he gingerly pressed against the bump on his head.

"We think it would be a good idea if we took you over to the hospital for some x-rays; you could have a concussion, or worse," Rodriguez suggested, but Fenton shook his head, then flinched, evidently regretting it.

"No, no, I'll be fine. I just want to go home."

"Fenton, it would be better if you let them take you to the hospital—" "I think you ought to get that bump checked out, Mr. Hardy—"

Jack and Michael both spoke at the same time, then grinned at each other in shared amusement. But their protests went unheeded, Fenton refused to consider the hospital.

"All right," the second medic said dubiously, "but you shouldn't try driving for the rest of the day. And if you feel dizzy or nauseated, have someone get you to the hospital right away. And I recommend you see your doctor tomorrow."

"I will if I need to," Fenton grumped, "but I won't need to." He scrambled to his feet, then swayed a little. Jack's quick hand on his elbow propped him up momentarily, until he could stand on his own. He looked around at the golf-ball-spattered ground. "This is the craziest thing I've ever heard of."

The medics set about packing up their equipment, and the beautiful dark-haired firefighter who was evidently their escort, waited patiently for them to finish. Again, she smiled encouragingly at Fenton, and then turned the battery of her dark eyes on Jack once more. At last, the three firefighters departed, marching across the finely-trimmed turf.

Jack's gaze remained locked on 'Tanner, D.' as he watched her walk away. _I wonder if I'll ever see her again? Bayport's not that big a place – surely I might? I could call the fire stations, and ask for a 'D. Tanner.' But would I dare do it?_

"Jack…" Fenton paused, waiting for the pilot's attention to focus on him. "Could you drive me home, since I'm not supposed to get behind the wheel? I'll come back tomorrow and pick up my car."

Jack was about to agree, when Pete-the-caddy spoke up. "Mr. Hardy, I'll be glad to drive your car home – it's the least we can do!"

Rudolfo nodded emphatically. "And I'll follow Pete, and bring him back to the club. He's right; it's the least the club can do, after this incident!"

Fenton nodded acquiescence. "That would be fine." He looked over at Michael Ranson, standing darkly and grimly silent, and looking over the course. "Michael, I apologize for spoiling our golf game."

Ranson shook his head decisively. "Mr. Hardy – Fenton – if you hadn't done what you did, I'd be the one with the knot on my head. I owe you – big time!"

The caddies hurried off, carrying all the clubs. Fenton, Jack and Michael slowly began to make their way to the clubhouse, pausing every now and then for Fenton to rest. Jack looked at Michael Ranson speculatively a time or two, trying to recall that strange moment right after the golf balls landed…and later, when Ranson had stood staring around the course, looking hard at the trees and the bushes. _One hand curled slightly, clenching just a little bit….was he really reaching for a gun that wasn't there? Or was it just my imagination?_

#####

"MY PURSE!" Erica's shriek echoed and resounded through the mall. She stood, numb with shock, as the hooded bandit lunged past her and took off down the mall, running full-out towards the escalators. He shoved past the people who were already on it, and leaped down the moving steps, heading for the lower level of the mall.

Now Erica moved, and moved fast, with surprising determination. She ran after the thief, screaming "Stop! It's mine! Stop!" and Laura tore after her, while Andrea looked wildly around for anyone in an official capacity – namely, a mall security guard! Seeing none, she popped her head into the robotic toys store and yelped a command:

"Call security – tell them that a woman's purse was just snatched, and the thief headed for the lower floor!" Andrea spun about and darted in pursuit of Erica and Laura. She wasn't sure what she could do to help, being this far behind, but she knew one thing: she wasn't going to be left out!

 _Guess I was quicker than I realized,_ Andrea thought, as she ran down the mall, for ahead of her, she saw Erica leap onto the escalator, and Laura follow. _Erica runs pretty well, for all she's wearing two-inch heels!_ Andrea chuckled to herself, and was grateful that she and Laura had both opted for pants and casual shoes! She shoved past startled shoppers, muttering 'excuse me…pardon me…' again and again, and flung herself onto the escalator.

When she reached the bottom, she looked about, wondering which way the thief and/or his pursuers had gone. Almost immediately, she saw them – all three of them – and galloped towards what was suddenly developing into a major riot!

The hooded thief had leaped onto a long wooden bench in the middle of the mall walkway, and lightly ran its length, undeterred by pursuit. When he reached the end of his elevated run, he suddenly lofted into the air in a dramatic, acrobatic flip, over the heads of the astounded shoppers blocking his path! Screams and gasps erupted from the onlookers, and a small smattering of applause. Erica and Laura fell further behind, blocked by the crowd of people.

Andrea stared in disbelief; it looked like something from a martial arts film, or something she herself might have dreamed up for computer animation! She saw him land, gossamer-light, and immediately start running again, straight for the nearest exit from the mall! Now Laura and Erica were catching up again – and then, to Andrea's dismay, she glimpsed two more masked figures, also dressed in black, surge out of a store, and take off after the two women! Andrea, struggling through the crowd, let go a scream louder than she'd ever thought she could manage.

"Laura! Look out for the other ones!"

Either Erica and Laura didn't hear her warning cry, or they were not about to be deterred from their chase, for neither woman halted, or even looked around. Their first hint of trouble came when they were seized from behind, and pushed towards the exit doors. Erica screamed piercingly, struggling futilely with her captor.

Laura stopped walking, forcing her captor to drag her forcibly along. After the first shock, the self-defense lessons taught and repeated again and again by Fenton kicked into her memory: Laura set her weight firmly and then stamped down, as hard as she could, on the man's instep! He let out an anguished cry, and his grasp on her arms loosened. She spun in the lax grip, and brought her knee up, with all her strength – right where it counted.

With a scream of agony, the man doubled over, and curled onto the floor. Laura didn't waste time seeing what became of him, she whirled again and sped towards the door, where Erica was being dragged outside and shoved toward a blue-toned van parked in the loading zone.

"Let her go!" Laura shrieked, and flung herself against the smaller of the two thugs, flailing against his back with her fists, hoping that she might at least slow things down. The wail of approaching sirens filled the air, and abruptly several men in the brown garb of mall security converged on the struggling group.

The two remaining masked men kept tugging Erica towards the van, but her struggles slowed them down, as did Laura's assault from the rear. Laura snatched at Erica's purse, and managed to wrest it from the first thief's hands. He snarled something incoherent, and grabbed at it, but she leaped backwards, clutching it protectively against her.

"Aw, let it go!" one of the men shouted. He shoved Erica to the sidewalk and took off for the van, followed by his partner. Faster than should have been possible, the motor fired, and the vehicle sped off down the street. Erica huddled there, shaken and sobbing, as the security guards poured past, in vain pursuit of the fleeing van.

"Erica! Honey, are you all right?" Laura dropped to her knees beside the younger woman, and put her arms about her. Somewhere in the crowd swirling around her, she heard Andrea saying something, but she didn't catch what it was. She concentrated on holding Erica against her, gently rocking and soothing the hysterical girl. "Shhh…it's all right now – it's all right…you're safe….It's all right, Erica, it's all right…."

"They – they said – it was s-so s-scary…." Erica gasped, gulped and caught her breath. "They – said – they were – g-g-going t-to t-take me—" She shivered convulsively, and Laura started the soothing murmurs again. After a moment, Erica swallowed, and continued: "They were…going to take me…to make sure…M-Michael didn't n-nose around wh-where he wasn't wanted!"

"Where Michael wasn't wanted?" Laura queried sharply.

"I – I d-don't understand….Michael isn't…isn't nosing around anywhere!" Erica suddenly began to sob again, and buried her head against Laura's shoulder.

The police arrived, and converged on them. Andrea hovered, as Laura and Erica were helped to seats on one of the outside benches, and took a turn comforting Erica as Laura gave her statement to one of the officers. Then it was Erica's turn…but as she was beginning her explanation, the man whom Laura had kicked was hauled out of the building and escorted towards the waiting squad car. As he was taken past, however, he glared down at Erica and Laura, and said in a malevolent hiss:

"We'll get you yet!"


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world.

Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 15

Joe trotted down the stairs, happy to be clad in dry clothes again. The Hardy house was quiet and serene; they had found a note from Laura saying that she and Andrea and Erica Ranson had gone shopping, and of course their father was playing golf. Joe snickered a little, thinking about that! _Dad and Jack, playing golf!_ He wandered into the family room, and found Frank just replacing the telephone in its holder. "Didja get hold of Dani?"

"No." Frank shook his head. "They said she's out on a call. Well, I'll try later, or catch her tomorrow, or something." He gave Joe an appraising stare, and grinned. "You look better when you're not dripping all over everything."

"Thanks." Joe threw himself down on the couch. "You're too kind."

"Any time." Frank debated whether continuing the repartee was worth it, and decided it wasn't. He looked at the clock, and figured it was close enough to lunch time to justify scrounging through the kitchen for edibles. "Hungry? Let's see what there is to eat."

The two were concocting sandwiches – Joe doing the actual work, while Frank suggested ingredients and offered advice – when there came the sound of vehicle motors in the driveway, followed by slamming car doors. Frank walked to a window to see who had arrived – and gave a cry of dismay:

"Omigosh! Something's happened to Dad!"

Joe rushed from the kitchen, and flung the front door wide to admit their father, who looked rather wobbly, and who was holding an insta-cold pack against the side of his head. Jack Wayne walked beside Fenton, supporting him with a hand on his elbow.

"What happened?" Both Frank and Joe spoke together, in horrified tones.

"Stupid freak accident!" Fenton muttered irritably. He took a good look at his sons' faces, and managed a reassuring smile. "I got hit with a golf ball, can you believe it? Don't look like that, boys, I'm all right. Really."

"Jack, is that true?" Joe disregarded Fenton's assurances and demanded verification.

"It's true that he got hit," Jack replied. "Fenton, do you want me to help you upstairs?"

"Good Lord, no!" Mr. Hardy grumbled. "You can stop treating me like a war casualty, you know! But I wouldn't mind sitting down," he admitted, in a milder tone. Jack steered him towards the family room, with Frank and Joe hovering worriedly around them like overanxious butterflies.

"I meant, is it true that he's all right?" Joe persisted, watching Jack ease his father down on the couch.

"The medics checked him over," Jack temporized. "He's supposed to stay quiet, today anyway." He flashed a quick, reassuring grin at Joe. "I think he's okay, Joe, but he did take quite a whack."

"Can I get you anything, Dad?" Frank asked. "And shouldn't I call Mom? Are you sure you wouldn't rather go upstairs to bed?"

"The closest bottle of aspirin in the house, and a glass of water," Fenton requested, "and don't alarm your mother. For Pete's sake, Frank, I'm fine! All you'd do is upset her! And no, there is no way I'm going to be put to bed like a toddler!" He distributed glares equally between Frank, Jack, and Joe.

"Now I know where you get it," Frank muttered to his brother.

"Where I get it? Where I get what?" Joe demanded.

"The thing with pretending you're not hurt when you really are."

"Me? What about you? I seem to remember someone in Tahoe—"

"Both of you hush. Stop arguing; you're making my head ache," Fenton said firmly.

Abashed, the boys immediately ceased their dispute. "I'll get the aspirin," Frank murmured, adding softly for Joe's ear alone, as he passed him on the way towards the kitchen, "I'm going to call Mom, too." A minute or so later, he returned, frowning slightly. He handed his father the water and medication, but when Joe tilted an inquiring eyebrow, Frank shook his head, and a moment later, whispered in his brother's ear:

"She didn't answer."

#####

"Vanessa? Vanessa!?" Andrea Bender's voice was uncharacteristically shrill, and she burst through the back door of the renovated farm house with a bang.

"Yes? What?" Vanessa shouted from her room. "Just a minute, I'll be down…." A few seconds later, she hurried into the kitchen. "What is it, Mom?"

"The most incredible thing happened!" Andrea sank onto one of the kitchen chairs, and stared at her daughter, blue-gray eyes wide with shock. "When Laura and I and Erica Ranson were shopping at the mall!"

"What? What? Tell me!" Vanessa commanded, seating herself and waiting impatiently.

Andrea did – and when she finished, she found herself trembling with reaction as she re-lived the incident. Vanessa, amazed and horrified, quickly moved to hug her mother tightly, and buried her head against Andrea's shoulder.

"I'm so glad you're all right," she whispered. "If anything had happened to you – I'd be all alone—"

"Kiddo, I wasn't ever in any danger." Andrea hugged her hard. "Laura and Erica were, but not me. But isn't that one of the strangest things?!"

Vanessa nodded – and tightened her embrace. The two women held each other securely, for a long time. Finally, Andrea sighed and said, "I'm fine, honey, just fine. Don't sniffle like that, huh?"

"I'll sniffle…if I want to," Vanessa mumbled – and sniffled again.

Her mother sought for a change of subject, and found one. "And now, let's discuss cleaning your room."

Vanessa nearly choked. "My room? You were practically kidnapped, and you want to talk about cleaning my room?"

Andrea got to her feet and pulled her daughter after her towards the stairs. "Come on, I need something to take my mind off what happened. You just got elected."

Shaking her head in amazement, Vanessa followed her mother upstairs.

"I mean it, Van, something has to be done about it." Andrea Bender's voice was mirthful, but there was an undertone of severity, too. She gazed about her daughter's bedroom with assessing eyes, taking in the clothing, books, computer supplies, sketch pads, and other miscellaneous paraphernalia which littered every flat surface. "Today's Sunday, you have time now, and I'm insisting."

"Mom…" Vanessa looked at the disarray with a sinking heart. If she had to clean it all up, her whole day would be shot! "I was going to do something with Joe—"

"You saw Joe just last night," Andrea stated firmly. "You'll probably see him this evening. Now, however, you are going to bring this room back to some semblance of order. _Capiche_?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'll do it. Mom – I love you," Vanessa sniffled one last time, and reluctantly started with the nearest thing to hand: yanking the sheets from the bed and preparing to put on clean ones. Andrea, with a satisfied grunt, left the room, as a luxuriously fluffy white cat meandered in. The cat looked around disdainfully with his golden eyes, and then leaped to stretch out on the bed.

Vanessa smiled down at the newcomer. "Hey, Thistle! Did you come to help?"

Thistle's version of help consisted of lying on his side and lazily sinking his claws into Vanessa's sheets, blankets, and bedspread, effectively keeping her from making the bed. She scooped up the cat in her arms and sat down, cuddling him in her lap. No longer a little kitten, Thistle made a lapful of squirmy fur. He clutched gently at Vanessa's hand, claws sheathed, as she petted him, and purred loudly. "You're sweet, but you are not any help at all," she informed him, and deposited him on the floor. Pretending it had been his idea in the first place, Thistle sat down in a puddle of sunshine and proceeded to give himself a bath, forcing Vanessa to step around or over him as she worked.

###

An hour later, the bedroom was tidy and spacious-looking once more. Vanessa tossed the last bit of trash from her desk into the wastebasket, and looked around, smiling with satisfaction. _There, that ought to satisfy Mom! Just as long as she doesn't think about vacuuming, too…_ She went over to the dresser and took something from the top – a jewelry box, and a tiny paper sack – and sat down on the edge of her bed. Thistle, who had departed for the hallway when Vanessa got too energetic with her cleaning, trotted back into the room, and leaped up to join his young human, attracted by the crackle of the paper sack, and curious as to what she might be doing.

"This isn't for you," Vanessa warned the inquisitive cat, as she took a silky slither of golden chain from the sack. "It's the replacement chain for my locket, not a kitty-toy!" Although she had worn Joe's graduation gift almost constantly since June, Vanessa had been forced to leave it off while a broken chain was replaced. She had picked up the new one the day before, and now proceeded to string the lovely gold locket on. Thistle watched her movements closely, tail-tip twitching with anticipation.

"There! Isn't it pretty, Thistle?" Unwisely, Vanessa held up the sparkling golden bauble to admire it before fastening it about her neck. Thistle, tempted beyond endurance, made a sudden swipe at the dangling locket with his claws extended, but Vanessa quickly pulled it out of his reach. The cat's down stroke caught the little box in Vanessa's lap, and the claws struck into the velvet cushion.

"NO, Thistle!" Vanessa, holding her locket in one hand, spanked the offending paw lightly with the other, and Thistle pulled back, but the velvet came along, loosened from the box. "Let go…." Carefully, the girl disengaged Thistle's talons. She started to push the padding back into the box, but paused, glimpsing something she had never noticed before. Beneath the cushioning was a piece of paper, folded into a small square. _It must be…what? They don't put directions for use in jewelry boxes! An 'inspected by' note?_ As curious now as Thistle himself, Vanessa carefully removed the paper and unfolded it.

 _Joe's handwriting…what IS this?_ Slowly Vanessa began to read the words written on the paper…and her vision became blurred with tears.

For my dearest Vanessa

The darkest hour is just before dawn.

And dawn seemed so far away.

Then I looked up and you were there.

You turned my night into day.

The night seemed so unending

And it would never go away.

But then you smiled right at me

And now you light my way.

You are sunshine and all things light

You are daytime and all things bright

You are the sun that breaks through the clouds

You are my heart - and this I vow:

I will love you—

Forever.

Love for always and ever,

Joe

 _Joe…oh Joe_. She blinked her eyes clear, tenderly smoothed the fold-lines from the paper, and reread the poem once more. _Why didn't he show it to me before? Say something? What if I'd never found this? When would he have finally mentioned it?_

With a sigh of deep contentment, Vanessa fastened her precious locket around her neck, then replaced the box in her dresser drawer. The poem, however, she slipped into the drawer of her nightstand, where it would be near to hand should she want it, day or night. Then she reached for the telephone. _There are some things,_ she reflected, _that just can't wait…._

#####

When Laura walked into her home, around two o'clock that afternoon, she was slightly surprised to find it very quiet, despite the fact that all her menfolk were home – or at least, all their cars were. She sighed to herself as she set her purse on the kitchen desk. She felt extraordinarily tired, and wished she could slip upstairs and take a nap without the effort of making conversation with her family. _How in the world am I going to tell Fenton what happened, without worrying him?_ she wondered. He'd have to be told, of course – but later. _Later._

She went into the family room, and found Fenton sound asleep on the couch. At first, she smiled, thinking he was merely catching up after being up early to get to the golf course – and then she noticed the ice pack, which had slipped to the floor…and the discolored swelling on the side of her husband's head!

"Fenton!" The exclamation escaped her before she could stifle it. Laura slapped a hand across her mouth, but it was too late; Fenton jerked awake and blinked up at her.

"Hi, hon…."

She dropped to her knees beside the sofa. "Darling, what in the world happened to you? Your head…." Very gently, she touched the bruised lump.

"I'm beginning to think freak accidents follow me around," he replied, wincing slightly at her touch. "First a Wheel of Fortune falls on me, now I got hit with a golf ball!" He sat up slowly, making room for her beside him. "It's okay, honey, really. Don't look so worried!"

"I want to hear all the details!" Laura insisted. A tiny voice in the back of her mind was heaving a sigh of relief – at least while Fenton was telling _his_ story, she didn't have to tell _hers!_

Mr. Hardy told her what had happened, and stressed that despite the malevolent shower of balls, no one else had been hurt, and his own injury was slight.

"Did you find out where they all came from?" Laura queried.

"No – the management at the club will look into it, of course," Fenton admitted, "but I'm not counting on them finding anything out." He smiled at her, and put his arm about her shoulders. "Now, let's hear about your day. Did you and Andrea and Erica have a good time at the mall?"

"Ahhh…." _Well, there was no way around it,_ Laura decided. "There was a little trouble…" she began, slowly.

###

Fenton had listened slack-jawed as Laura described the events which had taken place at the mall, and held her closely against him throughout the recital. When she reached the conclusion, with the threat hissed at them, he hugged her so tightly she could barely breathe.

"You," he murmured, "are lucky to be alive, my girl! And doubly lucky to be here, safe at home, instead of God-knows-where!"

"What could they have wanted Erica for – or me?" she asked, resting her head against his shoulder. "What could they have meant by warning Michael Ranson not to 'nose around?'" She shivered. "I wasn't really afraid while it was happening; I was too mad," she confessed. "Now I'm afraid!"

"It's all right," Fenton soothed her. "It's all right…." He cuddled her close, wondering if strange occurrences _always_ happened in groups, or if it just _seemed_ that way!

#####

"Frank, are you going over to see Megan any time soon?" Laura called up the stairs to her elder son. After a few moments, she heard his reply:

"Yeah, I think so." Frank's head appeared above the banister. "Why?"

"Well, I wanted Carolyn to have things for dinner, and I thought if you were going over anyway, that you could take them," Laura explained, smiling up at him.

"Oh, sure!" Frank smiled too; this was an unlooked-for excuse. Even if Mrs. Wright was being protective of Megan, she couldn't object to him bringing their dinner over, could she? "When do you want me to go?"

"Soon," his mother told him. "I told Carolyn they'd be there by five."

Frank glanced at his watch. "Give me time to turn off the computer, and I'll be ready to go."

Laura nodded her approval. "I'm sending enough for you to eat dinner there, if they ask you," she commented as she went back to the kitchen.

He turned away from the banister, glancing into Joe's room as he passed by. Joe had taken off a little while before, answering an imperious summons from Vanessa. Frank smiled to himself, recalling Joe's nervous remark as he left: "Jeez, what did I do now? All she said was 'Joe Hardy, I want you out here ASAP!' and then hung up!"

When Frank took his leave, he hugged Laura a little longer and a little more tightly than usual. Hearing about the theft and kidnap attempt at the mall had unsettled all of the Hardy men; _no one_ was going to threaten Laura and get away with it, not if they had anything to say about it!

###

When Frank approached the Wright's home 20 minutes later, he was surprised to see an unfamiliar car backing out of the drive. He paused before pulling in, waiting courteously for the dusty blue compact to leave, wondering who might be visiting Mrs. Wright and Megan. He could see what looked like a male figure at the wheel, but couldn't get a close enough look to recognize features. When the car had departed, Frank parked, and popped the trunk open. He took out the basket his mother had packed with the leftover chicken and other things, grateful that she had used something with a handle, that he could manage with one hand.

"Hello, Frank." Carolyn Wright answered the doorbell, smiling warmly up at him. Her red hair, brighter even than Megan's, shone in the evening sun's rays. "Come on in – oh, let me take that!" She efficiently scooped the basket from his hand, and headed for the kitchen. "It was awfully nice of your mother to send this over!"

"She was glad to do it," Frank commented, following her. "Where – how – is Megan?" he asked, then.

"She's in the family room," Mrs. Wright answered. She set the basket on the kitchen table, and uncovered the contents. "Goodness, there's a great deal here." She glanced up at Frank and smiled a little. "Care to stay and help eat it up?"

"If I wouldn't be in the way…." Frank said hesitantly. He wasn't sure if Carolyn Wright really wanted him there, tonight.

"Megan and I would both enjoy having you here," Carolyn assured him. "Now, go on and see her. I know you're dying to!" She made a shooing gesture at him, and a _'sksss, sksss'_ noise. Frank grinned, and happily departed for the family room, where he found Megan sitting on the couch and reading his history text. A _Consumer Reports_ magazine lay on the floor nearby; apparently Megan had been researching cars!

"Hi, Baby." Frank bent over her and laid a light kiss on her hair, figuring that was the safest bet for not causing her any pain. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm tired of being tired," she admitted, with a rueful smile. "Even when I don't take the stuff the doctor gave me, I'm still sleepy all the time."

"Sleep's good for you," he assured her.

Megan made a face. "What's even worse, Mom's practically nailed me to this couch! I'm not supposed to get up unless it's absolutely necessary!" she complained. "She's been waiting on me hand and foot ever since she got home."

Frank smiled complacently. Apparently, he and Carolyn were of the same mind on this subject. "Good."

"Good?" Megan echoed. She stared reproachfully at Frank, wounded by this betrayal. "I thought you'd be on my side in this! I hoped you'd help me argue her out of it!"

Frank sat down beside her, and carefully laid his arm across her shoulders. "I am on your side, baby, but your mom's right to keep you quiet," he told her firmly. "You'll heal faster if you get plenty of rest."

"Oh, I know, but it makes me an awfully boring person to have around! And if I stay on this couch much longer, I think my muscles are going to atrophy!"

Frank laughed. "I don't think there's any danger of that happening in one afternoon," he chuckled. "I saw somebody leaving, when I drove up," he continued, changing the subject. "Who was here?"

"Oh, that was Kirk Moncrief," Megan replied. "He came over to pick up the books I borrowed yesterday." She sighed. "I don't think I'm going to make it to classes tomorrow, so he needed the books back." She blushed a little. "I know it's only a matter of vanity, but – but – I just don't want everyone to see me quite yet!"

 _Kirk Moncrief again!_ Frank felt himself tense, and his lips tighten, and hoped Megan didn't notice. _Stop it, Hardy; you act like she isn't allowed to have any friends besides you!_ "Sorry I didn't get to meet him," was all he said aloud.

"He was offering me advice on what sort of car to replace the Accord with," Megan chuckled. "I'm not sure I agree with all his ideas, though. There's got to be a happy medium between totally environmentally-correct, and something that looks reasonably nice!"

 _Now he's helping her choose a new car?!_ Frank bit his tongue hard, to keep back resentful words. "What did you have in mind?" He bent down and picked up the magazine from the floor.

"I'm not sure…I suppose it sort of depends on what sort of deal we can make, and how much the insurance will pay." Megan leaned against his shoulder and reached to turn a few pages. "I'm thinking I might like something RED, though! I'm tired of that namby-pamby blue!"

Frank blinked. "Red?" he echoed, and then laughed aloud. "I thought you hated the word and all its associations!"

"Well…" Megan smiled, a bit unwillingly. "I guess I've gotten used to it, since that seems to be Joe's nickname-of-choice. Aside from Raccoon Face, of course."

"He isn't calling you Raccoon Face," Frank insisted. "You're the only one calling you Raccoon Face!"

"He hasn't seen me lately," Megan said darkly, and sighed.

Surveying her, Frank had to admit she was, indeed, looking awfully bruised tonight. The discolorations were showing up in both expected and unexpected places on her fair skin. He knew it was temporary, but it still made him ache to see it. Before he could answer, however, the sound of the doorbell ringing surprised them both.

"Who in the world could that be?" Megan queried. She started to get to her feet, but Carolyn's footsteps in the hall, and voice, halted her.

"I'll get it…. Yes?"

A deep, unfamiliar male voice came to the ears of the listening Megan and Frank. "Is this where Megan Wright lives?"

"Ah – yes…" Mrs. Wright sounded uncertain, slightly suspicious.

"I would like to see her, if I might," the deep voice continued. "I'm the one who hit her car on Friday afternoon."

That brought both Frank and Megan to their feet. They started towards the entrance hall, reaching it as Mrs. Wright ushered their visitor inside.

"Please, come into the family room, Megan is – oh, there you are!" Carolyn smiled at her daughter.

"Miss Wright? My name is Charles Mitchell, and I came to offer my sincere apologies for hitting your car the other day." The tall, distinguished-looking man held out his hand towards Megan with a regretful smile. "I hope you're feeling a little better now?"

Megan's mouth opened and closed a few times before she managed to get any words out. "M-Mr. – President – Mitchell!" she squeaked. "You're the – Mom, this is the president of the college!" She stared at him in amazement. "I go to school at Bayport Community!"

"You DO?" President Mitchell was equally astonished. "In that case, I am doubly apologetic! I certainly don't make a habit of going around running into students' cars!"

"Mr. Mitchell, please come in and sit down," Mrs. Wright urged. Still looking bemused, the man followed her into the family room; Frank and Megan brought up the rear. They all took seats and resumed the conversation.

"I had wanted to speak to you on Friday evening, after the accident occurred," Mitchell said to Megan. "But you were whisked away by ambulance so quickly, I didn't have a chance."

"You weren't hurt in the crash?" Frank questioned. President Mitchell turned an inquiring eye on him, evidently wondering just where the Hardy boy figured in all this.

"No – my car is quite a bit heavier than Miss Wright's. And you are…?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Carolyn Wright hastened to say, "Mr. Mitchell, this is Frank Hardy, a friend of Megan's. He also is a student at BCC."

"Frank Hardy?" Mitchell's cool, impersonal gaze softened. "I've heard of you – and your brother – and your father, of course, and the work you do. You three are well-known in Bayport. I'm very glad to meet you, Frank."

"It's my pleasure, sir." Frank smiled a little.

"In fact…" President Mitchell paused, sounding slightly uncertain. "I may say that meeting you is fortuitous. You may be able to help me with something."

"Oh?" Frank raised an eyebrow.

"As I was about to explain to Miss Wright—"

"Please, call me Megan," she interposed softly, turning pink.

"All right." The man smiled at her, kindly. "As I was going to say, when my car struck yours, Megan, there was something odd occurring. I hadn't expected the light to be red, I'll admit, but I did have time and room to stop – or so I thought! When I stepped on the brakes, however, they felt soft, and mushy. I slowed down, but was unable to stop the car – which is why it hit yours so hard." He frowned darkly. "Yesterday, the mechanics started work on repairing my car, and something very strange came to light. It appears that the brake line was partially severed, so that a good deal of brake fluid had leaked out. I have been assured that this did not occur during the accident, but was the reason for the accident!"

Frank's gaze narrowed. "Someone tampered with your brakes?"

"So it seems," Mitchell said dryly. "And Megan was the unfortunate recipient of the…prank." He was still frowning. "Prank," he repeated. "But there's something more – something even more sinister."

"What?" Carolyn Wright leaned forward tensely as she asked the question.

"In my car trunk was found an empty container of methanol." He paused, for Frank had gasped sharply. "Yes, Mr. Hardy, you're quick on the uptake. It's something that may have been used to start or fuel the fires at the school."

"And I take it you hadn't bought any methanol," Frank said, making it a statement, rather than a question.

"Most certainly not! I didn't even know what the stuff was! But the police are being…suspicious. Oh, they've been perfectly polite, so far, but…"

"Someone tampered with your brakes and planted the methanol container in your car. It sounds like a win-win situation for whoever did it," Frank noted. "You might have been killed in the accident, or badly injured – and you were almost certain to be incriminated when the container was found!"

President Mitchell looked from Frank to Carolyn to Megan, meeting their gazes – assessing, accusing, curious – squarely. "I swear I had absolutely nothing to do with setting the fires. And I am most dreadfully sorry about what happened to you, Miss Wright – Megan. If there is anything, cost-wise, that the insurance company doesn't cover, in your medical bills or in replacing your car, please know that I will pay the difference."

He looked at Frank again. "But I'm facing a larger problem, if someone is attempting to frame me with regard to the arson. Is there any chance that Hardy Investigations might look into it, and clear my name?"

"We've been itching for someone to ask us!" Frank admitted with a grin. "My younger brother Joe is on the football team, and he's taking it especially hard; he was looking forward to playing, and now the games have been postponed or cancelled, because of what happened to the stadium and the field. He wants someone punished for that!"

Mitchell chuckled. "Well, I want someone punished for it too!"

"Frank…" Megan said hesitantly. "I just thought of something."

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"Remember when you and I and Joe and Vanessa were walking by the Admin building on Thursday morning? You found that picture—"

"Picture?" President Mitchell raised inquiring eyebrows.

"Yes, sir. It seemed odd…." Frank reached for his wallet, and took out the photograph they had discovered. "Look." He handed the picture to Mitchell, who looked at it and blanched, closing his eyes.

"Where did that come from?"

"Was this a photograph you had?" Frank turned the question back on the other man, who opened his eyes and gazed meditatively down at the picture again.

"Not exactly like this, no…." he mused. "There were some group shots similar to it, with numerous copies floating around my extended family – but not one of me alone." He fingered the photograph, and frowned again. "This seems awfully small, don't you think?"

Megan extended her hand. "Could I see?" When he handed her the photograph, she looked at it closely. "Mr. Mitchell, could this have been one of your group shots, with the rest of the people cut off?"

Mitchell's gaze held respect. "It certainly could!"

"In that case," Frank hazarded a guess, "whoever cut the picture probably dropped it there after the fire, hoping you'd be linked to it. Mr. Mitchell, it looks like someone's determined to nail you as an arsonist."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 16

"I really think you should go see a doctor…" Laura gazed at the knot on her husband's head, and gently brushed back his dark hair to get a better look. She frowned at what she saw: although the swelling had gone down some since she'd first arrived home and seen it, it was still ugly and vivid and raw-looking. Looking at it made her stomach lurch slightly. She knew she was probably irking Fenton with her attempts to persuade him to have a doctor look him over, but she couldn't help it – she was upset! "And you should be resting – in bed," Laura continued, when Fenton merely ' _mmmph'd'_ in reply to her comment about the doctor. "You might have a concussion, you know. It wouldn't hurt you to let me take you over to the hospital and get checked out—"

Fenton chuckled, and captured her hand as she smoothed his hair. "Laura, don't worry so; I'll be fine!"

Laura sighed. She wanted to believe him, but she knew from experience that all the men in her family insisted on being macho about injuries. Too, too macho. Sometimes those injuries _were_ serious, despite how they tried to shrug them off!

"Honey, I've been through this before – many, many times. Remember?" Fenton reminded her gently. "It's no fun, I'll admit, but I'll survive it, and everything will be fine. And I promise—" he paused for emphasis, "I promise emphatically I'll take it easy. You won't have to worry about that!" He rubbed his head ruefully, willing away the throbbing that no aspirin had managed yet to completely dissipate.

Laura sighed, but laughed a little, admitting defeat. "All right, Mr. Macho – it's your head, after all. If it falls off, don't come whining to me about it!"

Fenton burst into laughter, despite the headache. "I promise I won't come whining to you about it," he vowed, and kissed her again, to comfort and calm her.

Laura settled into the curve of his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. _I'm not giving up the fight,_ she thought _, I'm just regrouping. I'll try again later, when he's forgotten, and isn't so resistant to the idea._

"Honey, stop worrying…relax."

At Fenton's quiet reminder, Laura realized she must have unconsciously sighed again – or tensed up. _The latter_ , she decided. Her neck and shoulders were tight. She rotated them, trying to ease the tension a little, and then felt Fenton's strong fingers begin a gentle massage, carefully rubbing her back and shoulders.

"Relax, Laura…take some deep breaths."

After a few minutes she leaned back against him again. "Thank you, that's better. I'm just – I don't understand. The attack at the mall – it doesn't make any sense. Why would anyone be after me – or Erica?"

"Well, honey, there are probably a lot of people out there – people who consider themselves to be my enemies – who would use you to get back at me, if they wanted to," Fenton reminded her somberly. "Early tomorrow morning, I'm going to get right onto it—"

"Oh no you're not!" Laura denied, twisting to scowl at him in mock-threat. "You're going to rest tomorrow, if I have to tie you to the bed!"

"Well, I admit that has some possibilities-" He broke off, grinning wickedly at his wife's blush before resuming. "I promised I'd take it easy, and I will," he said mildly, being careful not to agree with the staying-in-bed idea.

Laura looked at him suspiciously, but Fenton didn't say anything more for a few minutes, just resumed gently rubbing her shoulders. "Fenton?"

"Mmmm?"

"Do you really think it's possible that those men at the mall wanted me, and not Erica? It was Erica's purse they stole, not mine. If they were after me, then why not take my purse? We were right there together, after all. There was no way they'd know I'd go after them!"

Her husband thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. "If it was anyone who'd studied you at all – knew anything about you – they'd probably figure you wouldn't stand idly by and let it happen. You'd follow after them, and try to stop it." Fenton frowned, thinking it through. "It does seem strange, though…. Well, it's entirely possible that someone knew Michael is wealthy, and they were going to hold Erica for ransom – and you just got in the way!"

Laura shivered. "I'm not sure that makes me feel any better!"

Fenton smiled grimly, and when he spoke, he phrased his words very carefully. "Just in case, honey – just in case it is someone trying to get to me through you – I'd appreciate it if you didn't go anywhere alone for a few days. And make sure the alarms are on here at the house when you're home, even during the day."

"Are you sure I'd have to go that far? They aren't on now—" Laura sighed, but she knew she was going to acquiesce, even though she didn't like it. "All right, I suppose I can walk wary for a few days, but—"

Her reluctant words were interrupted by the doorbell – which rang, and then rang again, almost immediately.

Laura got up and hurried into the front hall to answer the impatient summons. She could see through the little one-way glass panel in the door that it was Michael and Erica Ranson! She opened the door to let them in.

Michael Ranson stormed in, his blue eyes flashing enraged fire. He didn't bother with any niceties, such as 'hello,' and he barely acknowledged Laura's presence. "Hardy!" he bellowed, "You've got to find out who tried to kidnap Erica!" He strode into the family room, seeking Fenton, pulling Erica along behind him. Laura hurried after them.

Ranson was no longer wearing expensive golf clothes; now he was in an expensive suit, including coat and tie. _Armani_ , Laura thought. Erica was clad in the same sweater and skirt she'd worn on the shopping expedition, and she was clinging to Michael's hand, basically being dragged in his wake – but standing slightly back and to the side, as if trying to distance herself from Michael's anger. She met Laura's eyes for a moment, then glanced away nervously. This was obviously an uncomfortable moment for Erica Ranson.

Laura was irresistibly reminded of her first encounter with Michael Ranson on board the _Royal Tahoe_ , screaming with rage over the food-poisoning incident which had made Erica ill.

"People coming after me is one thing," Michael continued hotly, "but coming after Erica – that's something else! I won't have these hooligans threatening my wife! I want you to find out who's behind it! It's more important than looking into that glass company. Money is no object, Hardy – none at all. I want my wife safe!"

He paused for breath, and Fenton, who had remained calmly sitting on the couch and listening to the tirade, nodded.

"Laura told me about it, Michael. You don't have to ask me; I already planned to look into it. After all, they almost took Laura, too!"

Michael's mouth was open to continue his outraged ranting, but at Fenton's words, he shut it with a snap. He looked from Erica to Laura – and then back at Fenton.

"You think they were after Laura?" he questioned. "But they took Erica's purse!"

"I realize that," Fenton replied, nodding. "And it's likely they were after Erica, perhaps for ransom. However, it is just as possible that Laura was the target. They could have taken Erica's purse, knowing that Laura was likely to chase after them. They might have made a mistake – Laura and Erica are both small, both blonde – and gone for the wrong woman."

"I'll say they went for the wrong woman!" Ranson growled, then subsided, as Fenton continued to speak.

"They took the purse to lure the women towards the exit, after all, where the van was waiting. And they grabbed BOTH women, Michael, not just Erica. It would have been much easier for them to just take Erica, but they tried to take Laura, too."

Michael looked over at Laura again, and for once, he seemed to be at a total loss for words. "I'm – I apologize. I'm sorry, Laura. I didn't mean to – I hadn't thought of it that way." He moved over to the love seat and sat down, Erica beside him. He put an arm about his wife's shoulders and squeezed, reassuringly.

"It's all right, Michael, I know you were upset. Could I get you anything to drink? Or you, Erica?" Laura offered.

"No, thanks," Erica whispered, and Michael shook his head. Laura settled herself on the couch beside Fenton once more.

"This possibility of them wanting Laura, and not Erica—" Fenton was still puzzling over this enigma. "Erica, could you do something for me, please? Could you remember exactly what the man said to you? You told Laura that he said they were going to take you to keep Michael from 'nosing around,' right?"

She nodded.

"Is there any possibility that he didn't say Michael? Any possibility that he mistook you for Laura, and meant me? Or rather, did he say something that your mind processed into 'Michael,' even if he didn't say the name, so that's what you recall? What did he say – exactly?"

Erica puckered her brow, trying to think, trying to remember. She closed her eyes, evidently attempting to visualize the scene in her mind. "He was dragging me along…" she murmured, at last. "I kept screaming, so I didn't hear everything he said – he was swearing a lot. He said…he said…okay. He said 'Shut up, you bi—'" She broke off in mid-word, and opened her eyes, looking decidedly embarrassed.

Fenton's mouth twitched into a slight smile. "You can skip that part."

Michael Ranson's eyes glittered ominously. His mind-set was obvious: _nobody talks to my wife like that!_

"Okay, he said to shut up…and then he said, 'we're going to take you, to make sure'…OH!" Again, the wide blue eyes opened and Erica stared at Fenton in shock. "He said 'to make sure your husband doesn't nose around where he isn't wanted!"

"Ahhhh." Fenton leaned back, a grimly satisfied smile quirking his lips. "He said 'your husband,' which to YOU means Michael. But if he thought he had Laura, it means ME."

"Mr. Hardy, is it possible that they wanted both women?" Michael Ranson leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped, staring hard at the detective. "It would have been much easier, assuming they wanted either Laura or Erica, to simply grab one and take her. A better chance of getting outside and away. Why would they want BOTH? It's not like we're bosom buddies, or anything – we've only met once before! And we don't have similar business interests – except for the thing with Markham Glass. And that's nothing to be nervous about, as far as I can tell. And for that matter, how would anyone have known about it anyhow?" Michael's voice was starting to rise again, with anger and frustration. "We just talked about it last night, for God's sake! Nothing had even been done about it! No one knew you were going to check into anything!"

"I don't know of anything they might have been after, if they wanted both Laura and Erica," Fenton concurred, "and I also agree that even if there is something shady at Markham Glass, it wouldn't be anything to cause an attempted kidnapping; it's a Federal offense, after all. I'll check into it, of course, right away – I'll find out everything I can about the men who made the attempt…or rather, who hired the ones who made the attempt. I'm hoping the one who was taken into custody might be willing to talk."

Mr. Hardy paused, but it was evident that he wasn't through with his ruminations. The others waited. Michael's impatience showed, one foot was jittering nervously, but he remained silent.

"There's something else I'm wondering about, too," the detective said at last. "Who knew that Erica and Laura were going shopping? How did the men know to go there at that time, to try the kidnapping? It had just been discussed the evening before, and the details weren't settled until morning, after all! And how did they know that you or I might not be there too?" he added to Michael. "Did you tell anyone? Erica? Laura?"

"I did," Erica volunteered, looking up from her lap. "I talked on the phone to my mother this morning. I told her that I was going shopping with 'a new friend.'" She looked over at Laura and smiled. "But I don't believe I mentioned Laura's name. And I didn't tell her where we were going!"

"The boys knew," Laura said. "I told Frank at breakfast, and I wrote them a note when I left. I don't know who else might have known; we weren't trying to keep it a secret! Andrea very likely told Vanessa. I talked to Megan about it, right before her mother arrived home, so she probably told Carolyn. But who would have cared that we were going shopping?"

Fenton nodded his understanding. He was more troubled now than he had been before. He reached for the telephone and dialed from memory. "Is Lt. Riley there? Thanks….Con? Fenton Hardy…."

A few minutes later he hung up, having asked Riley to check for possible wiretaps on the Hardys' home phone. "I haven't heard anything that sounds suspicious," he conceded, "but I've been using my cell phone more than the house phone, lately. And these days, it's the outside lines that are tapped, rather than putting things in individual phones….I just hope it's something else! Although the logical alternative is that someone's been watching either our house, or you two, Michael, and I don't like that, either!"

Michael Ranson got to his feet. "We should go – I need to get Erica back to the hotel," he said, and indeed, both he and Erica looked somewhat droopy. "Mr. Hardy, thank you for hearing me out, and I apologize again, for yelling at you." He offered a shamefaced smile. "I never even asked you how you were feeling!"

Fenton smiled. "I'm fine."

"That's good, I'm glad." Ranson sighed. "Let's go, sweetcakes."

Erica stood up. "Mr. Hardy – thank you for saving Michael from being hit – I'm sorry you were hurt!" she murmured, and flushed unhappily. "We seem to have caused you both a lot of trouble today."

They had just reached the entryway, when the telephone rang again. Fenton answered…and then didn't say anything more. After about five seconds had elapsed, he hung up, and turned to the others, his face grim.

"Fenton? What was it?" Laura questioned him, worriedly.

"The voice on the other end said, 'women who go shopping alone are asking to be taken away from those who love them,'" he responded. He looked at his wife, then over at the Ransons. "And then he hung up."

#####

 _What'd I do wrong now?_ Joe thought frantically as he drove his Aztek into Bayport's outskirts, on the way to the Benders' farmhouse. Vanessa's abrupt order sure made it sound like he had done something _very_ wrong _! Jeez, can't a guy go two seconds without doing something to upset his girlfriend?_

 _What could I have done to make Vanessa mad? Did I forget our anniversary? No, that can't be it; we started dating in January. Did I forget her birthday? No, that was in July, and I know I didn't forget it. Did I promise to meet her somewhere and forgot to go, today?_ He was pretty sure that wasn't it; he was positive they hadn't made any plans, the previous night.

By the time he reached Vanessa's house, Joe's stomach was all in knots, and a headache was beginning to spike into his temples, from nervously clenching his teeth as he drove. He simply couldn't think of a single thing he'd done wrong! _Man, and just when I thought everything was going perfectly, too…._ He gulped as he knocked on the door; it didn't help that Vanessa jerked it open right away, as if she'd been watching his approach.

"My room. Now!" Vanessa didn't even bother saying 'hello,' or kissing or hugging him, as she usually did. She pointed peremptorily towards her bedroom, and waited as he began walking to the stairs, then followed along behind him.

 _Man, I must be in SERIOUS hot water! She's never EVER this angry!_ Joe felt sweat breaking out on his forehead. He slunk into her bedroom, and Vanessa slipped past him to perch on her bed. She bounced a time or two, settling herself, and then stared up at him, blue-gray eyes fixed on his face.

"How…could…you? How COULD YOU?" she demanded.

Joe's eyes grew large, as he frantically tried to figure out, _how could he WHAT? Had he flirted with some girl, and didn't remember it?_

"Wh-what – Van, I don't…."

Vanessa raked him with a scathing look, then turned and reached into the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled something out, laid it on the stand, and pointed imperiously at it. "Read that, please."

Swallowing nervously, Joe stepped forward, and picked the paper up. He unfolded it…and then he saw the first lines on the page. A brilliant scarlet color suffused his face.

"I, uh…"

Vanessa's smile was like the sun breaking through dark clouds. "How could you write something like that for me…and not TELL ME about it?" she demanded. She leaped to her feet and pounced on him, flinging her arms tightly about his neck and kissing him emphatically. Vanessa was nearly as tall as Joe himself, and no weakling; Joe was almost knocked from his feet by her impetuous embrace. He staggered, holding tightly onto her for balance.

"Van, I…" Joe began, then stopped, totally speechless with embarrassment. He looked down at the floor, and found himself scuffing a foot on the carpeting like a shy child. "Jeez, Van, I'm not – ya know, I'm not – I didn't want to bring it up….I mean, sure, I wrote it, but…" He blushed even more fiery red. "I didn't know if you'd…like it."

"Not LIKE it!" she exclaimed. She kissed him again – longer, this time, and harder. "I absolutely LOVE it! I didn't know you could write poetry!"

"I can't…not really. That's the only one—"

"But when were you going to tell me it was there?" she interrupted, with another kiss.

Joe was certain he wasn't going to stop blushing for about a thousand years – if then. But oh, he certainly did like those kisses Vanessa was planting on him! He wrapped his arms about her, and began returning them with interest…when a sudden distraction presented itself!

"Mmmrrowp? Mmrrrrrrowp!" Thistle cat-footed into the room, attracted by the noise. He promptly flung himself down beside Joe's feet and rolled onto his back, clamoring loudly. He'd always been fond of Joe, who could usually be depended on to give him lots of attention and petting. Thistle squirmed about, and looked at Joe and Vanessa upside down, waving his paws in the air. Both teens broke into laughter.

Joe bent down and rubbed Thistle's soft white tummy, and the cat purred and wriggled in delight. Joe was grateful for the chance to let his face cool off a bit, and for the respite it gave him from answering Vanessa's insistent question. Vanessa chuckled, delighted with her cat's antics, and also crouched to stroke him.

But finally, she tapped Joe on the shoulder. "I'm still waiting for an answer, Joe," she reminded him. "When were you going to tell me? You were going to tell me – weren't you?"

He straightened up slowly, and stood looking down at her as she crouched there, one hand idly resting on Thistle. "I'm not sure… I'm not sure when I – if I – would have told you, babe. I wrote it the day we had the graduation dinner – while I was at work. I was working out what I wanted to say to you – I wrote it down in the poem, and I slipped it into the box. Just in case I couldn't actually say what I wanted to, that night. And then, what with the other thing - the head injury and all that - I guess I sort of forgot about it."

Vanessa's eyes sparkled like luminous blue-gray pools. "Joe, this poem means everything to me. It means everything that you wrote it – that you FELT it – and that I finally found it." She stood up, and beckoned him nearer.

Joe gulped nervously, as he put his arms around her, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into.

He felt Thistle's rumbling purr against his ankle, as Vanessa kissed him again.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By

EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 17

TUESDAY, SECOND WEEK, LATE AFTERNOON

Joe held the door for his older brother as the two entered the Student Center. He'd gotten used to doing things like this, over the past month, since Frank's left arm had been practically useless, and by now it was second nature.

"So what's the plan?" he asked, as the brothers made their way through the entrance, crowded with milling students on various errands. Joe had been at football conditioning drills most of the afternoon, held on the soccer field. Having been assured by the coaches that they _would_ manage to practice and get in some games, Joe was feeling a little happier. Frank had spent _his_ afternoon at Wayne's World, doing paperwork in the office – and therefore was on the disgruntled side. He was also concerned about Megan, and how she'd coped with her first day at school after the accident.

"I told Dani we'd meet her here," Frank informed him. "And Megan said she'd be along, and—"

"—and Vanessa and I almost always meet here about now," Joe finished for him, nodding. "Okay, you watch for Dani, and I'll watch for Van and Megan."

Dani arrived first. She came through the glass doors with her long-legged, confident stride, and her beautiful face lit with a smile as she spotted Frank and Joe.

"Wow!" Joe muttered from one corner of his mouth. "When did she put those blue streaks in her hair?"

"I have no idea," his brother murmured in reply, "but isn't she something?"

Off-duty, Dani Tanner was dressed in 'civvies,' rather than a uniform; tapered gray slacks and a fuchsia-print silk blouse, with a matching headband holding back her blue-streaked, glossy black hair. Frank immediately moved forward to greet her, and led her towards a cluster of chairs near the windows.

"It's great to see you, Dani! You look swell!"

"I'd say the same, but what's this?" Dani indicated Frank's cast with a nod, and an inquiring uplift of her brows. "What happened to you, Frankenstein?"

"I had an accident when we were in Nevada, that's all. It's healing," Frank said in a dismissive tone, hoping she wouldn't pursue the matter for further details.

"Saw your Dad Sunday; unfortunately in a professional capacity," Dani commented. "The weirdest things happen on golf courses! How's he doing?"

"YOU were there?" Frank stared at her incredulously. "Dad didn't say – well, he doesn't know you, of course….He's okay now, though. Feeling okay, I mean."

They seated themselves, and Dani smiled at him. "Despite the broken wing, you look mighty happy, Frankenstein. Content, even." She eyed him expectantly. "Something must be going right for you. Care to share?"

Frank's smile was, as Dani had said, deeply contented. "I'm in love with the most wonderful girl in the world, that's what's going right for me. You'll meet her in a few minutes." The smile dimmed slightly. "But she was in a car accident last Friday; she hasn't been feeling very good. She wasn't badly hurt, but today's the first day she's been back at school… I haven't seen her since lunch. I hope she's okay."

"Awww, Frankenstein, that's a shame!" Dani commiserated. "I'll be delighted to meet her, though. Any girl you talk about like that is a lucky one! I'm glad you're so happy!"

With the freedom accorded a long-standing friendship, Frank asked a return question: "And how's your social life?"

The beautiful woman laughed a little, ruefully. "Frank, dating a firefighter is a lost cause. We have awful working hours, we're always on edge even when we're not on duty, and usually when we're off, all we want to do is crash and sleep for 24 hours straight! There is no social life! No sane guy wants to put up with something like that!"

Joe had waved a greeting at Dani, but remained standing where he was, watching for either of the other two girls. He was startled when a hand suddenly gripped his arm, and he whirled about to see Megan standing there, her eyes fastened on Frank and his companion.

"Hey, Red! Glad you're here – now if Vanessa'd just….What's the matter?" he broke off to ask, for the little redhead was looking very… _odd,_ indeed. She was pale, and the cuts and bruises on her face showed up startlingly. Her azure eyes were nearly the color of the bluish bruises surrounding them. "Are you feeling all right? Was today too much for you?" Joe asked solicitously.

"Joe – who is that?" Megan indicated who she meant with a nod of her head.

"With Frank? Oh, that's Dani Tanner," Joe said, with casual indifference. "Have you seen Van anywhere?"

"D-Dani? The firefighter friend? I thought – I thought that – when Frank said 'Danny,' I just assumed—"

Joe looked down at her, puzzled, then his face cleared. "You thought it was a guy? Sorry, Red, it never occurred to me that you wouldn't pick up on that!"

Megan barely heard him. She stared at Dani, at this utterly stupendous young woman who was seated so close to Frank; the two of them were chatting and laughing animatedly, evidently renewing old ties. _She's absolutely gorgeous – just look at her! And I – the way I look now – oh, just look at the way she and Frank are looking at each other; the way they're laughing…!_ With a tiny, half-stifled cry, Megan clapped one hand to her bruised face, and fled in the direction of the ladies' room.

"Wha— Megan, what's wrong…?" Joe didn't get the words out before she was gone. He stared after her in perplexity, rubbing the back of his neck.

Frank and Dani, involved in their catching-up, hadn't even noticed Megan's arrival and subsequent departure.

Joe was still frowning, baffled, when another tap on his shoulder caught his attention. He turned and smiled to see Vanessa standing behind him.

"Hey, babe!" Joe kissed her cheek quickly. "About time you showed; everyone else is here!"

"Oh? Where?" Vanessa looked around. "I don't see Megan, or anyone who looks like a fireman – and who is that sultry creature with Frank?"

Joe felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Oh no," he groaned. "Not you, too – that's Dani Tanner, the friend Frank and I told you about. Did you think Dani was a man, too?"

"I most certainly did!" Vanessa raised her eyebrows. "Wow, she's stunning, isn't she? But where's Megan?"

Joe frowned. "She – kind of – took off," he admitted reluctantly. "She got here, asked who Dani was, and then she ran for the restroom. She looked upset…. Do you think she's all right?"

Vanessa looked at her boyfriend a long moment, then swiveled her gaze to Dani again, before returning to Joe. "I think we've got more problems than just arson on our hands, Sherlock," she murmured. "Something tells me Megan's self-esteem just took another direct hit." She patted his muscular bicep. "I'll go talk to her."

Vanessa found her friend leaning against a sink in the ladies' room, staring bleakly at her reflection in the large mirror. Tears were running down her face, dripping on the white porcelain.

"Megan—"

"Did you see her?" Megan's voice was very subdued. "Dani – the 'friend.' The breathtakingly beautiful 'friend.' And just look at me – can't blame Frank for wanting someone a little more presentable, can we now?" There was a rare, bitter edge to her tone.

"Honey, you're building all this into A Thing, and it doesn't mean anything—"

"Go away, Vanessa, leave me alone," Megan said dejectedly. She wiped her eyes with determination tempered by caution for the pain it caused. "Go out there and meet with Joe and Frank and Dani. It should be a nice little chat. I'm going home."

"HONEY!" Vanessa seized her friend's arm tightly, only loosening her grasp when she saw Megan wince. "Meggie, you are not going home; you're coming out there with me."

"No – I don't want to. I can't." Megan picked up her bag and turned towards the door. "Tell Frank I didn't feel well – it's the honest truth. I feel absolutely awful!" Before Vanessa could stop her, the redhead had darted out the door; by the time Vanessa gained the hallway, Megan was halfway to the exit doors, running.

"Oooh!" Vanessa stamped her foot in frustration, unsure whether to pursue or get reinforcements. She decided on the latter course, and hurried over to Joe. "Joe, tell Frank to go after Megan, she's taken off; says she's going home. She won't listen to me, and probably not you, but maybe she will to him!"

Not quite understanding, but without further ado, Joe strode over to where Frank and Dani were still engaged in conversation. He gripped his brother's shoulder hard, and leaned to speak directly into Frank's ear.

"You've got to talk to Megan—" he said curtly, and jerked his head in the direction of the doors. "Evidently she took one look at Dani and had a meltdown! Vanessa says she said she's going home. Step on it; you've got to catch her!"

Frank, baffled and concerned, got to his feet, muttered "Excuse me," to Dani, and headed for the doors. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew Joe wasn't kidding around.

Dani stared after him, then turned to Joe for an explanation. "Okay, Golden Boy, what's happening here?"

###

Megan hadn't been able to run far; her bruised body rebelled, forcing her to slow down to a walk. She trudged along, head bent, barely paying attention to her surroundings. A few stray tears trickled down her face, drying on her cheeks in the warm fall air. She had instinctively headed for the parking lot, but before she reached it, sudden realization struck: she had no car! She had ridden to school with Frank! A tiny whimper of frustration left her lips, and her spirits sank even lower. She hesitated, indecisively. How was she to get home now? Bus? Hitch a ride with someone? Taxi? Admit defeat and wait for Frank?

When Frank reached the sidewalk, he looked frantically around, hoping to spot Megan somewhere, but saw no sign of her. _Joe said she was going home –_ mentally crossing his fingers, Frank started towards the parking lots at the fastest jog he could manage. Almost immediately, his shoulder and arm began to throb, but he doggedly continued on, scanning ahead for any sight of his girlfriend.

 _There! There she is!_ Far ahead he saw her, her red-gold hair and the purple backpack she always carried, bright in the afternoon sunlight. She had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and now Frank saw her turn irresolutely, looking about as if she wasn't quite sure where to go. _She's gonna kill me for embarrassing her like this, but…_

"MEGAN!" Frank cupped his good hand next to his lips and bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Megan, WAIT!" He hurried forward again. "Wait up!" A few people turned and looked at him curiously, but this was a college campus, after all, and the sight and sound of a young man yelling for and chasing a girl across the grounds was nothing new; most simply acknowledged the pursuit and promptly forgot about him.

Megan flushed crimson with embarrassment at the stentorian hail. She didn't exactly stay put, but she didn't run, either. _Oh, what's the use?_ She merely turned away, and slowly walked to a nearby tree, where she set down her backpack and dispiritedly sank to a seat on the grass. She watched Frank's approach, her countenance bleak.

Bewildered, troubled, bordering on angry, Frank trotted across the lawn and dropped down beside Megan. For a moment, he just sat and caught his breath, rubbing his aching shoulder. He felt like yelling at her, but the sad expression on her face forestalled that impulse. She was seriously unhappy…and he didn't know why! At last, silently imploring for divine guidance, he reached for her hand, which was lying limply in her lap.

"Baby, what's wrong? Why did you leave? What's upset you so?"

She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry – it…it was…when you said 'Dani,' I thought…and there you were…."

Frank frowned, puzzled. "This has to do with Dani? What about her?"

" 'Her.'" A small, bitter chuckle accompanied the syllable. "I thought – and Vanessa thought – you were talking about a guy named Danny. Seeing you there – and she's so beautiful – you looked so right together, so happy…and here I am, looking like this—"

Frank inhaled sharply, in sudden understanding. "You're jealous of Dani Tanner? Megan, she's just a friend! She taught a CPR class I took, that's all! You and Vanessa both thought it was a guy?" He started to chuckle, then stopped, biting his lip, when he saw that Megan wasn't laughing – not at all.

"Yeah…." She still hadn't looked up, and her voice still had that rare bitter edge.

"Oh, baby, what am I going to do with you?" Frank sighed in consternation. "Look, there's absolutely nothing between Dani Tanner and me, except friendship. It's you I love! Practically the first thing I did when I saw her today was start telling her about you! And she was totally delighted!" A sudden thought occurred to him. "You know what? Now you have some idea of what I've been feeling like every time you mention Kirk Moncrief's name! And you've been mentioning it a lot lately!"

 _That_ got a reaction. Megan lifted her head and stared at him in amazement. "Kirk Moncrief!? I hardly know the guy! I've only borrowed his books! He was just being nice!" she protested. "And Kirk Moncrief is hardly a masculine version of Dani Tanner, Frank! I mean, he seems to like me okay, but…." She paused, hearing herself, and gazed back down at her lap for a moment, then cast Frank a covert glance from the corners of her eyes. "So you're saying we're both being stupid, huh?" The ghost of a tiny smile touched her mouth. "Well, I guess it's nice to know I'm not the only one."

"You're not the only one, and fairly stupid, yeah." Frank squeezed her hand gently. "Both of us. I'm sorry you misunderstood about Dani's gender, sweets. I never realized what you thought….And believe me, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I feel about Dani pretty much the same way I feel about Vanessa, or Devon, or Liz, or April. Just friends." He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. "You okay now? Let's go back so you can meet her."

Megan hesitated. "I feel so…humiliated," she whispered. "Not just because I left, but…she's so gorgeous, Frank, and she'll think I crawled out from under a rock…."

"Baby, she's a firefighter! She sees people at their worst every day!" Reviewing _that_ comment, Frank winced internally, that had _not_ come out exactly as he'd meant it to! Fortunately, Megan didn't appear to notice his _faux_ _pas_. "Come on." He scrambled to his feet, somewhat awkwardly, and held down his good hand to Megan. "Please, baby, come back, we have an arson investigation to discuss, remember? And I want you there, very much."

Moving even more awkwardly than Frank, she stood up, and retrieved her backpack. Slowly, hands tightly clasped, they began their trek back to the Student Center.

Megan chuckled wryly as they walked along. "We're a real pair right now, aren't we?" she observed, glancing at Frank's sling.

"Togetherness," Frank assured her. "The couple that suffers together, and all that…. Are you okay, though? I've been worried about you today; how are you feeling?" He grinned ruefully. "Physically, I mean. I'm not getting into the emotional side, right now!"

She sighed a little. "I have a splitting headache," she admitted.

Frank halted, fishing in the capacious pocket of his cargo pants for a tiny rectangular box of aspirin – something he'd refilled daily and carried religiously for the past several weeks. "Here." He took out two tablets and handed them to Megan, then two more for himself. They stepped into the entrance of the nearest building and sought out a drinking fountain.

When they resumed their walk, Frank briefly reverted to the former topic of conversation. "One more thing I might mention, regarding Dani. The woman is five years older than we are! You really think I'm going to take up with a 24-year-old? Or rather, you think she'd take up with a 19-year-old? She probably wouldn't want to be labeled a cradle-robber."

"Age isn't all that important," Megan murmured, with a soft chuckle, "Five years doesn't mean anything, anymore. And she certainly doesn't look any five years older than we do."

"Maybe not, but she is."

###

Dani Tanner had pleasantly acknowledged Joe's introduction to Vanessa, and listened to their somewhat involved explanation of Megan's current self-image problems and abrupt departure, with incredulous disbelief.

"You didn't think to mention that I wasn't 'Danny' Tanner – Joe Hardy, you and your brother are something else! And Frank's poor little girlfriend, who's barely starting to recover from having her face mashed by an air bag or something, and believes herself to be a close relative of the Phantom of the Opera, sees him with me, and naturally thinks the worst!" Dani barked with laughter, and shook her head, exchanging significantly exasperated looks with Vanessa. "No wonder she took off!" The laughter died, and a very sympathetic expression suffused Dani's lovely face. "I hope Frank can explain things satisfactorily. I don't want to cause problems."

"He will. He can sweet-talk her, no problem. And the 'Dani' thing – we didn't mean to – it just didn't come up!" Joe protested, to no avail. Dani just snorted.

"Here they are." Vanessa had been keeping an eye on the doors, and she saw Megan and Frank enter. Seeing their linked hands, she sighed with relief. _They've made up, thank goodness!_ She, Dani and Joe stood up as Frank and Megan approached.

"Megan, this is Dani Tanner; Dani, my girlfriend, Megan Wright." Frank plunged into the introduction with slight ceremony. He kept a tight hold on Megan's hand – he wasn't about to risk another precipitous departure!

"Megan, I'm so glad to meet you." Dani smiled her friendliest smile. "Frank was singing your praises to me a little while ago!" She kept smiling and looked directly into Megan's apprehensive face. "I heard about your car accident; let me say that you're doing awfully well to be back at school already!"

Megan managed a tentative smile in return. "Thanks…. Nice to meet you, too," she whispered.

Dani then turned to Frank and fixed him with a severe stare. "And as for you, I'm beginning to think 'Frankenstein' isn't such a good nickname for you after all!" Megan and Vanessa, who hadn't heard this appellation before, both giggled a little. "I'm wondering if Joe and you shouldn't be called 'Dumb and Dumber' instead! What's this about letting Vanessa and Megan think I was a man?" she demanded.

"We didn't realize that's what they thought," Frank lamely attempted to defend himself. "If you had a regular name like most people—"

"I do have a regular name; I just don't happen to care much for 'Danielle,'" she retorted. "Just remember, Frankenstein, you're on my list – and you, too!" she added to the snickering Joe. "All right, let's get this powwow underway!"

#####

Dani had the chemical news: the accelerants had been positively identified: Methanol for the stadium fire, and hydrogen gas for the Administration building.

Frank related what had occurred on Sunday evening, with President Mitchell's startling revelation of his tampered-with brakes and the incriminating methanol container in his car trunk. "He asked us to investigate, Dani, so you can breathe easy; this is legitimate, now, not just nosiness!"

Joe supplied the questionable actions of Dave Wahlstrom and presented the consideration that Students For Earth might somehow be involved in this, although he was forced to admit that there was really no evidence against them. "I just feel funny about it!" he insisted.

Megan brought up the subject of the picture of Mr. Mitchell which Frank had found near the Administration building – the picture which they now knew had been slashed in pieces! "Maybe whoever put the accelerant container in his car put the picture there…."

When they had hashed and re-hashed the subject until they could glean no further facts or suppositions from the meager knowledge they possessed, the Hardys, Megan, Vanessa and Dani decided to call it quits for a while. The conversation skipped lightly from topic to topic, then was interrupted by an obtrusive growl emanating from Joe's stomach.

Everyone looked at him, and the younger Hardy blushed. "Sorry," he muttered, "but I'm hungry! I've been busy today, and I haven't had anything to eat since about ten o'clock!"

Dani glanced at her watch and whistled. "I had no idea it was so late!" She was about to stand up and depart, when Joe made a suggestion.

"What does everyone say to dinner at Mr. Pizza? That includes you too, of course," he added with a grin at Dani, "unless you don't want to be seen in public with us, or something. Assuming you're free, that is."

She pretended to consider it carefully, then nodded. "I think I can work it into my busy schedule. And pizza for dinner sounds great!"

"Can you handle pizza?" Frank asked Megan quietly, and was gratified when she smiled and nodded.

"If I'm careful not to smear pizza sauce all over my lips," she replied. "I've advanced all the way to chewing now," she added, chuckling softly. "But I'll need to call Mom and tell her, or she'll worry."

"Good." Joe got to his feet and extended a hand to Vanessa. "Let's go before I faint from hunger."

###

Three cars pulled into the off-street parking lot, one after the other, and parked side by side: Joe's Aztek, containing Joe and Vanessa; Frank and Megan in the Saturn, and Dani's little Kia SUV. The five emerged from the vehicles and began to walk towards the brightly-lighted entrance, when they heard a loud hail:

"Joe! Frank! Hi!"


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 18

Everyone stopped and looked for the source of the yell, which had come from the direction of the street. They saw a pewter-colored, extended-cab pickup stopped in traffic, with a dark-haired young man waving at them from the driver's seat.

"Jack!" Frank grinned and let go of Megan's hand to return the salute, and shouted an invitation. "Come and join us for pizza?"

"Sure!" Jack gestured towards the parking lot. "Be there in just a sec!" The pickup moved away.

"Hope you don't mind—" Frank abruptly realized that Dani might not appreciate the addition of a stranger to their dinner party.

She shook her head silently, a rather odd expression on her face. _It was him…the guy from the golf course! Jack – yes, that was his name. This is like – Kismet, or something! What were the chances of it happening…?_

In just a few moments, Jack Wayne joined the little group on the sidewalk. He greeted the teens, and then turned to Dani, and his mouth dropped open slightly. _It's her! The gorgeous chick from the golf course – the fireman…fireperson…fire – um – fighter!_ He scarcely heard Frank's introduction.

"…Jack Wayne, my boss and flying instructor. Jack, this is Dani Tanner."

Jack gathered his scattered wits. "We've met – sort of. She was at the country club when your dad got hit with the golf ball, the other day – with the paramedics." He smiled at Dani tensely, hoping against hope that she remembered too.

"Oh, right!" Frank nodded in comprehension. "Good – let's go on in, then!" He tugged Megan along the sidewalk, apparently unaware of the nearly-audible _**click**_ of Jack's eyes meeting Dani's. Megan and Vanessa, more attuned to the emotion-charged atmosphere, exchanged interested, speculative glances as they entered the restaurant.

Dani and Jack brought up the rear, together by default, separated by nervous tension. Each was casting quick, covert looks at the other, each hoping the sparks emanating from this unexpected meeting weren't obvious to everyone!

Mr. Pizza wasn't quite the same without Tony Prito there, but it was still the best place for pizza in Bayport. Despite Tony's absence, the sights, sounds and aromas of Mr. Pizza were comfortingly familiar. Joe and Vanessa led the way to a large round table which would comfortably seat six, closely followed by the others. Jack pulled out Dani's chair with an exaggerated gesture of courtesy, and she gave him a flirtatious smile as she seated herself.

"Thank you." The murmur was nearly inaudible in the chatter and laughter surrounding them, but Jack was sure he would have caught her slightest whisper in the middle of a tornado.

"Okay, how many do we need? Two? Three?" Joe was spreading out the printed menu on the table with a businesslike air. Frank and Vanessa craned their necks to look at the menu; Megan, already knowing what she liked and wanted, sat back in her chair, waiting for the others to make their choices. Jack and Dani wrenched their eyes away from each other reluctantly, but as they ostensibly considered pizza and drink choices, unspoken words roiled and seethed through the air.

 _She's even more beautiful than the other day…thought she looked great in a uniform, but now…._

 _He's funny…witty….and his eyes are so kind…._

Conversation ebbed and flowed, full of banter and nonsense. Joe took the pizza orders to the counter; Vanessa and Dani volunteered to get the drinks. Megan was sternly ordered to stay put, with Frank and Jack remaining at the table with her to enforce the edict.

 _Being a firefighter is a tough job, especially for a woman – there's a lot of steel underneath all that glamour….I wonder if she'd go out with me? I wonder if she'd like to go flying, sometime…? I wonder if she has a boyfriend…._

 _A pilot – he's a pilot. He owns his own charter service. I wonder what kind of movies he likes? I wonder if he'd take me up in his plane….I wonder why he isn't married…maybe he_ _is_ _married!. Oh stop it, Dani – you're turning this into 'Some Enchanted Evening!' But – but it's true. It happens, just like that!_ Dani could barely admit it even to herself, this sudden overpowering attraction to Jack Wayne. _But it's no use – no guy wants to go to the trouble of working around a schedule like the one I keep, and he won't either…._

"How's April?" Joe was asking now, of Jack. "Since school started, I haven't been at the hangar when she is; schedules don't mesh."

Vanessa and Megan smiled with interest; Dani froze. _April? So there_ _is_ _a girlfriend? A wife?_

"She's getting a kick out of being a junior," Jack chuckled. "She's on the yearbook staff, darn her; now she doesn't have as much time to work for me. That's why you haven't seen her; she's never there!"

"You're a slave driver anyway," Joe gibed at his boss cheerfully. "Can't blame April for wanting some time off!"

Vanessa noticed Dani's carefully-politely-blank expression. "April's Jack's younger sister," she explained. "She's 16. She pilots for Wayne's World, like Frank does."

"Like Frank used to," Frank grumbled quietly in Megan's ear.

She patted his knee encouragingly beneath the table. "And will again," she murmured.

"Seventeen next month," Jack supplied. "Our parents are no longer living; it's just April and me."

"Oh." Dani gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry." Inside, she was melting into a puddle of relief. _A sister…April's his sister!_ She was embarrassed by the incredible happiness she felt at that simple fact!

###

"So, care to let me in on how you all happened to be together?" Jack inquired, as they settled in with the pizzas and prepared to eat. He cocked his head, reviewing his words, and grinned. "Or maybe I mean, why are you with them?" he asked Dani. "These other four are always together!"

Frank and Joe eyed Jack, glanced at each other, and simultaneously decided to trust him with the delicate information. "We're trying to find out about the arson fires at the community college," Joe said quietly. "Dani had some things to tell us."

Jack tilted a dark eyebrow. "I might have known. Whenever there's something going on, you're hip-deep in it!" He looked at Dani. "And you're willing to help them?"

"Well—"

"When we asked her to, it was iffy; now it's legit," Frank assured their friend. "Dr. Mitchell, the college president, asked us to look into it; I met him Sunday evening. He's under some suspicion of starting the fires because there was an empty accelerant container in his car – the car with which he hit Megan, by the way, because his brake line was partially cut. He tried to stop – but the brakes were only half working. And that's suspicious, too."

Jack thought about that while he chewed contemplatively on a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese. "Sounds to me like someone's trying to frame Mitchell, then – or kill him!" he said at last. "Causing an accident that would bring the accelerant container to light. The strange coincidence is the fact that he hit Megan's car, thereby involving you guys!"

"Exactly what we thought." Joe took an enormous bite, temporarily preventing his participation in the conversation.

Megan, nibbling her slice of pizza carefully to avoid getting spicy sauce in her half-healed cuts, leaned forward to make her comments heard in the bustling din. "I really don't think Mr. Mitchell would be burning down the buildings on campus, and he certainly didn't tamper with his own brake line; he might have been killed, instead of basically walking away from that accident!"

Frank, still shaken every time he thought of that car crash, leaned so that their shoulders touched, reassuring himself that Megan was there beside him, essentially unharmed. She turned her head and smiled, snuggling a little closer.

"So you have an unknown arsonist who uses chemicals, who dislikes President Mitchell, and who has something against Bayport Community College." Dani ticked the items off on her fingers.

"Any of the chemistry teachers?" Joe quipped, having swallowed his mouthful of pizza.

"Not real likely," Dani commented dryly, "although I suppose anything's possible."

"Why would anyone dislike a college?" Vanessa queried, her forehead puckering in a thoughtful frown.

That stumped them. Pizza and drinks were consumed in relative silence for a few moments.

"Who would be mad at a college, as opposed to 'dislikes'?" Jack suggested, finally. "Or mad at President Mitchell, specifically?"

"Someone with a grudge," Megan contributed. "And someone with access to Mr. Mitchell's car, and the photograph, and chemicals – although as you said, methanol and hydrogen gas can be purchased a lot of places," she added to Frank.

"Okay, who might have a grudge against a college or against President Mitchell?" Dani proposed the altered question. "Leaving out access to the accelerants for the moment. But the car access and the photograph – that's a little more specific against Mitchell himself, isn't it?"

"Very true," Joe conceded, "but would someone start burning down a college, one building at a time, just because they were sore at the president?"

"A wacko would," Jack said soberly. "And that's what you're dealing with, you know – some weirded-out psychotic!" Caught up in the discussion, he hadn't looked at Dani for at least two minutes. Now he did, and saw her shudder a little at his words. "Sorry," he murmured, and dared to rest a hand on her arm as a gesture of comfort. She smiled at him, and Jack felt his insides melt slightly. _Wayne, you've got it bad – really bad!_

"Would the Students For Earth have any reason to be mad at Mr. Mitchell?" Joe queried. "I still think there's something going on with that group. Can't we get on with checking them out?" he urged, directing his request at Frank.

"Students For Earth?" Megan picked up on the name with surprising suddenness. "Kirk Moncrief was talking to me about them – he's a member. I think he was sort of recruiting," she smiled.

"He is?" Although he knew absolutely nothing about Kirk Moncrief except that he'd heard his name _way_ too many times in the past few days, Frank felt a mean little thrill that possibly – possibly – Kirk might be involved with something shady.

"Yes. Since last year, evidently. Hey—" Megan leaned forward, suddenly animated. "I can find out about the S.F.E. for you! Kirk asked me if I'd like to go to a meeting with him. I can do that, and get lots of information—"

"Hmmm, not a bad notion, Red—" "Well, that might work," "Megan, that's a great idea…"

"No!" The word came out in a yelp, slightly more vehement than Frank had intended it to be. He found himself the center of attention, with five pairs of eyes fixed attentively on him. "Er – I mean…I don't know if you should do that…."

"Why not?" Megan demanded, staring at him suspiciously. "All I've been lately is a liability; it's about time I started contributing something, isn't it?" Her gaze narrowed. "Or is it that you think I can't contribute, anymore? I did take criminal investigation classes last year, just like you did, Frank! I'm not completely stupid about it, even if I'm not taking as many this year - and I didn't grow up learning it from the cradle."

"That's not what I meant!" Frank denied hastily. "But – but I just – you might not have to actually attend a meeting with him, Megan. You could just ask questions – act like you're interested, but sorry, you can't make it to this meeting, maybe next time…" He let the suggestions trail off, watching Megan's face. How could he admit the jealousy which was making him seethe inside, without looking like a total idiot!? Megan's suggestion was a good one, and ordinarily he'd have been the first to say so!

"Good point," Dani commented. "Who knows when the next meeting might be, anyway? You want to find things out as quickly as possible."

Frank felt a surge of gratitude for Dani's sensible observation, whether she'd made it to avert a crisis between himself and Megan, or not. _Thanks, Dani, I owe you one!_

"Well…I suppose so," Megan conceded, her face clearing. "I'll see what I can find out from him tomorrow."

Frank nodded, and picked up another piece of pizza, outwardly agreeing – but inside, still fighting down his jealous feelings, and that nagging feeling of unease, that he couldn't put his finger on. _Stop it, Hardy, you're being stupid!_ He found, to his chagrin, that _knowing_ something and being able to either combat or help it, were completely different problems! He tried to keep his face blank, hiding both the apprehension and the jealousy. _Damn Kirk Moncrief, anyway! Why couldn't he just…disappear?_ Ruefully, Frank realized that was exactly what he wanted: he wanted Kirk Moncrief to go far, far away! It might not solve all the problems, but it sure would solve a couple of them!

Frank was abruptly jolted out of his gloomy musings by a gentle squeeze on his arm, and he looked up to meet Megan's affectionate gaze. She smiled at him – that warm, loving smile with the dimple just emerging – and even if it was a slightly battered smile, Frank turned to jelly inside. _Admit it, Hardy; you thought she was being silly before, about Dani – and you're being just as silly now! You admitted to her that you were being stupid, so just DROP IT!_ He managed a grin in return, and shifted his left arm in its sling, to cover her hand with his fingertips. _Damn, I want this cast off! Well, everything will be all right; she's no fool. She should go and talk to this Moncrief guy; she knows him, after all! And it really would help, and then too, it'll help keep her mind off the car wreck, and how she's felt since then…._

"You'd promise to be careful?" he said aloud, but quietly, for her ears alone, then went on, a little more loudly. "Just talk to him, right? Don't agree to go to a meeting with him, just find out more about the group, all that kind of stuff?"

Megan nodded vehemently. "I promise!" she vowed. "I've had enough excitement in the past few days already; I don't need any more at the moment. But don't worry, Frank. I'm a big girl, remember!"

"Good," Joe interposed himself into their conversation. "At least now we have a plan of attack! We have Sherlock Red—" he grinned cheerfully at Megan, who threw an olive slice at him for punishment, "to go and question a member of the suspect group. We have Dani, our 'man on the inside,' to provide lots of juicy info from the fire department—"

"Hey!" Dani protested. "I'm not a man – or a spy!"

"You wish," Joe retorted. "I happen to know you've been secretly hoping to land a position with the CIA…. Anyway, and we have me to provide the brains of the outfit!"

"If you're the brains of the outfit," Dani countered, smiling sweetly, "then we're in serious trouble. We'll be lucky to be able to figure out how to tie our shoes in the morning—"

"Hey, I resent that!" Joe's vociferous protest was drowned in the laughter erupting from the others.

"Listen up, I can tell you who has the brains in the Hardy family," Dani leaned over the table to announce impressively, then paused, waiting for everyone's attention. "It's their mom!" she triumphantly crowed, and sat back, satisfied.

Jack, laughing with the rest, felt his heart flip again. _She's not only beautiful, but she's witty, too! She can hold her own against Joe….Face it, Jack, you're a goner!_

Vanessa high-fived Dani, and was just opening her mouth to ask another question, when the firefighter suddenly sat up straight and turned towards the window. The others silenced, wondering what had caught her attention, and then it became clear: sirens, many sirens, approaching fast.

Dani got to her feet and went to the window facing the street, arriving just in time to get a clear view of three full-sized fire trucks racing past, one after the other, followed by the Chief's rig, and another smaller truck. The others had hastened to join her, and they all watched as the vehicles tore down the street. For a few moments, conversation died in the pizza parlor as the diners listened to the fading wails. After a few seconds, they heard more sirens, and a police car tore past, lights flashing.

"That looked pretty serious. Where do you suppose they're going?" Joe asked at last, in a subdued voice.

Dani turned around, her face somber. "I think they're heading to the school," she announced clearly. "I think there's another fire on campus!"


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 19

Without even consulting each other, the six sprang into immediate action. Joe grabbed sheets of tin foil from the dispenser on the counter, and headed back to their table, where Megan and Vanessa were gathering up jackets, purses, and bags. Joe and Frank hastily wrapped up the remaining pizza, to take with them. Dani yanked her cell phone out, and began dialing frantically, while Jack – seeing that there was nothing he could actively do at the moment – leaned against the wall and watched her with unabashed interest.

 _Wish I had the nerve to ask her out! I'll have to do it soon, I know that, or she'll be gone, and I'll have lost the chance! After all, how often does a guy like me manage to meet a great girl like her? She's not wearing a ring, so she's not married, and she didn't mention a boyfriend…. Frank or Joe might know if she's taken – yeah, that's what I'll do, I'll ask Frank! Joe would never let me live it down, if I asked him…._

At that moment, Joe himself jolted Jack back to full awareness. "Jack!" The younger Hardy joggled Jack's elbow sharply. "Either get your head out of the clouds, or get left behind!"

"Right! Right!" Jack became aware of Dani speaking now, off the cell phone.

"There's a fire on campus – the Art building. This time, though, they think the fire department might have a chance to save the building. They hope the crews got there in time." She looked around at the anxious faces. "Let's go!"

They swept out the front door and half-ran, half-walked towards the parking lot, everyone pulling keys from various pockets as they hurried along.

"This might be a chance to see if there were any witnesses!" Joe exclaimed in excitement. He jogged a step or two and tapped Dani's shoulder. "Did they say if there were any victims? Were there classes going on in the building?"

Frank answered him grimly before Dani could. "There are a few night classes in the art building, and it's early enough in the evening that they would still have been in session."

Dani turned around, walking backwards for a few steps. Her mouth set in a grim line. "If that's true, Frankenstein, then whoever did this is in more trouble. He – or she – has gone from straight arson to attempted murder!"

"Want me to drive?" Joe queried his brother, as they reached the lot. "Van can take my car." He carefully didn't say why he was offering, but it was clear to them all: Frank's driving skills were badly hampered by his cast, and Megan…what would Megan's reaction be to getting behind the wheel of a car, just now?

Frank shook his head, holding Megan's hand tightly. "We'll be fine, scram, get going." He clicked the button to unlock the Saturn, and Megan flung herself into the passenger seat, tossing her backpack into the rear seat and grabbing for her seat belt, seemingly in one motion. She suspected she'd be stiff and sore again tomorrow, but right now adrenaline was masking all her aches.

The ride back to campus was swift, as swift as they could make it, despite the traffic congestion caused by the emergency vehicles' passage. There was no way they could drive close to the fire, but Joe led the way to the closest parking lot, with Jack, Dani, and Frank following close behind. As they hurried across the campus grounds on foot, they could see the flashing lights from the engines, and plumes of smoke rising into the air from the building known as the 'Everding Fine Arts Center.' Half art gallery, half classrooms and studios, the Everding Center was one of the newer buildings on campus, built with the funds provided by Joshua Everding, an alumnus who had donated a sizeable amount of money to the college for the sole purpose of creating the center. And now, all that money and all that beauty – going up in a puff of smoke!

"It's so senseless," Frank murmured to Megan as they trotted down the sidewalks. "I can't figure out what someone is trying to prove, burning all these buildings! If they wanted something, that would be one thing – but as far as I've heard, no one is asking for anything, at least not yet! It just doesn't make sense!"

"Like Jack said, if it's a psycho, it doesn't have to make sense, Frank," she reminded him. "But what I'm wondering is, why can't they seem to stop the fires? Aren't they patrolling the buildings now?"

"I'm sure they are, Baby, but it would take an army to keep the whole campus safe," he replied grimly. "But what I don't get is why the security systems aren't picking anything up! They have cameras in all the buildings, I know they do!"

"Maybe the arsonist is able to disable the cameras, or something…." She shivered. "Or is setting the fires in places where the cameras aren't, somehow."

They pushed through the crowd of onlookers surrounding the fire scene. It seemed as if everyone who was on campus that evening was there, despite the fire crews' best efforts to keep people back. Joe, Vanessa, Dani and Jack were there ahead of them, and Dani had gone to speak with the fire chief. Frank and Megan joined Joe and Vanessa, waiting to see what Dani might find out. Jack followed her, his eyes switching back and forth from the girl to the activity surrounding them.

Megan smiled and nudged Frank gently. "He's got it bad, doesn't he?" she whispered, nodding towards Jack.

Frank grinned a little. "Jack deserves some happiness in his life," he observed lightly. "That is, IF he can screw up the courage to make the first move!"

"Won't he?" she asked curiously. Her mouth twitched a little. She recalled another dark-haired young man who had needed a shove or two in the right direction….

"I'm not holding my breath," Frank confided, unaware of Megan's thoughts. "I think Dani is going to have to do it, assuming she's interested; I've never thought of Jack as being shy before, but there must be some reason he's never had a girlfriend. Well, that I'm aware of, anyway," he added.

Dani returned to the group before Megan could reply. "The chief says that everyone got out of the building – at least, they're pretty sure everyone did – before it got bad," she reported. "Someone pulled a fire alarm, and the whole building evacuated at that time."

"Pulled the fire alarm?" Joe echoed. "Who could have done that? Someone who just happened to be in the building and smelled smoke – or could the arsonist have done it?"

Dani looked at him with humorous respect in her eyes. "Very good, Golden Boy. The chief thinks that it was probably the arsonist, but that's off the record. They don't know what started this one yet. The guy – girl – whatever – hasn't used the same M.O. twice. It's like he uses what's at hand, or what he can bring in cheaply. And, unfortunately, an art building is just crammed with potentially flammable substances!"

"Oil paints, canvas, lightweight wood," Vanessa nodded, "turpentine, paper…" She shuddered. "It's a wonder the whole place didn't go up in a mushroom cloud!" Her face tightened. "I had classes in that building," she muttered grimly, and Joe pulled her into a comforting embrace.

Dani nodded. "I'm going to see what I can do to help," she announced. "My gear isn't here, so I can't go in, but there are things I can do outside, and that will free up someone else to go inside." She started towards the trucks again, evidently intending to offer her assistance.

Jack followed her. "Can I do anything?"

"You can stay back, out of the way!" came the answer from one of the firemen, who nodded recognition at Dani at the same time. "Hiya, Dani."

Jack sighed and stepped back, deflated. Dani turned, and smiled at him, and slowly, the unhappy expression on his face lightened into an answering smile.

"It was nice of you to offer, though," she murmured, moving closer again. "Look, I'm probably going to get very busy here, and we might not get a chance to talk more – how would you like to get together some time? Uh – that is – I should have asked, I guess. You're not…married…are you?"

Jack shook his head. "Not married. Never have been. Don't even have a girlfriend. Do you? Have a boyfriend, I mean, not a girlfriend, although you could have a – a girlfriend – I mean, if you…" Miserably, he stumbled to a halt, flushing profusely. _Swell, Jack, you really put your foot in your mouth_ _that_ _time!_

Dani smiled. She reached up to pat his cheek gently "I'm single, straight, not taken, and interested. Good enough?"

Jack's grin split his face. "Yes, good enough!"

"Look, I've got to get to work," Dani gestured towards the fire trucks. "But if you're not busy for lunch or dinner tomorrow, I'd like to…could we maybe get together? I'm off for the next two days, but then I go on for a 48-hour shift. Two 24-hour days, straight."

Jack looked worried. "I have to fly a run in the morning," he admitted. "With April and Frank both in school now, I'm the only pilot available to fly morning runs." Kindly, he didn't say that Frank wasn't available to fly _any_ time, at present. "But I could get back for a late lunch, maybe."

"Good." Dani abruptly pulled out her cell phone. "What's your number? I'll code it in, and leave you a message with mine. That way you can call me back."

As Jack recited his telephone numbers, Frank and Joe, watching from a slight distance, exchanged amused looks.

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," Joe chuckled, "I'd never believe it. Jack Wayne on a date – with Dani Tanner! I notice that she had to ask him!"

"Well," Frank said consideringly, "I think I can see it…I think I can, anyway…." He shook his head, watching Dani trot off to her duties, and Jack stand there watching her, mesmerized. "Joe, why don't you and Van—"

"Why am I not surprised?" A new voice interrupted him. .

Joe jumped about a foot, and let out a yip of surprise. He whirled around. "Con! What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?" he gasped.

"Not particularly," Con Riley answered mildly. "Here I am, fresh on the scene of a crime, and who do I find already here ahead of me? None but the Hardy brothers and their friends!" Riley shook his dark head, not surprised to find them there, but shocked that it had taken them so long. He eyed Frank's cast. "Three whole fires, and this is the first time I've seen you two on the scene. Are you slowing down? I wouldn't have thought you'd let something like a broken arm stop you, Frank."

Frank managed a laugh, while inwardly wondering if people were ever going to quit giving him a hard time about slowing down – be it age, an injury, whatever, he was getting sick of it! _First Joe, now Con…Jack's the only person who seems to think I can still be of any use…_ He forced a smile, and held out his right hand to Con.

"I haven't slowed down, Con, I just thought I'd give the Bayport PD a chance to crack a case once in a while."

Con snorted. "Gee, thanks, you're too awfully kind." He peered through the floodlight-shot dimness at the others. "Hiya, cutie," he said to Megan. "How are you feeling now? Better, I hope?"

"Yes," she nodded shyly. "And thank you again for the flowers, Lieutenant Riley."

"You're welcome." Con fixed the Hardys with his best official gaze. "Okay, what are you boys really doing here?"

Joe assumed his most innocent look. "Gee, Con, we're students here, after all, and we were just passing by, as it were. That's all!"

Con smirked. "Try again. I don't believe you."

Frank decided enough was enough. "Con, we're here officially. President Mitchell asked me Sunday if Joe and I would investigate the arson fires on campus, because it seems that someone was trying to pin them on him. We came to see what we could find out."

Con sighed and rolled his eyes. "I might have known," he muttered. "Listen, guys, you're going to have to tread softly on this one, okay? It's already getting major coverage from newspapers nationwide. And I'm warning you – if Chief Collig finds out you're interfering with the official investigation…well, I'm not going to take the blame for Collig's reaction! That's all I can say!"

Joe scowled thoughtfully, but he wasn't really angry. They'd covered this ground too many times before. "Con, we'll be careful, we really will. And we're not going to interfere in anything; you know that."

"And we're not going to do anything dangerous," Frank interposed. "We're both still recovering from the last time we tangled with bad guys," he said ruefully, "and I'm sure I'm speaking for both of us when I say that we don't have ANY desire to get hurt again!" Joe nodded fervent agreement.

Con grunted dubiously, but didn't scold any more.

Megan and Vanessa, standing quietly nearby, exchanged smiling glances. _Yeah, right!_ Close association with Frank and Joe had brought them closer with each other, and sometimes it seemed as if their minds were running in parallel grooves.

"We know better," Vanessa breathed, and Megan nodded slightly. "Well, they don't want to get hurt, but—"

"Psst!" A hiss from behind them made both girls jump, startled. They turned to see a tall figure standing close to them. "You're with those guys over there, aren't you? The Hardys?"

"Yes," Vanessa replied cautiously. She looked the guy up and down. Just a regular college student, dark-skinned and dark-eyed, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a backpack slung over one shoulder. "We're with them…so?"

"Gotta minute?" the boy inquired.

Megan and Vanessa looked at each other nervously, then at Frank, Joe and Con, who were paying no attention to them at the moment. What if this was the arsonist?

"Look, I saw something!" he insisted, "but I'm not talkin' to the cops, all right? I'll tell you, and you can tell THEM. But leave me out of it! I don't need any trouble, right? Got it?"

The girls nodded, willing to listen. "What is it?" Megan asked softly. "And – could we know your name? First name, at least?" She had no idea why she wanted to know, but…she just did.

"Not here." The boy jerked his head sideways. "Further away. I don't want to talk here." He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the gloom. "And the name's Corin."

"Okay…but just a little ways," Vanessa conceded. They followed their informant a few yards away, into the shadows of some trees, and waited.

"I saw somebody running – a guy – running away from the art building, right before everything went up!" Corin said. "He was carrying a big grocery sack with him…I'll bet he's the one who did it! The one who started the fire! He was RUNNING – hard."

"Did you see what he looked like?" Vanessa demanded.

"Short – shorter than me," Corin stated positively. "I didn't see the face too clearly, but I don't think it was anyone I know – recognize, I mean. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt that covered his hair."

"Oh," Megan said, disappointed.

"I know it's not a lot of help, but I did notice a couple of things," Corin persisted. "He had a backpack on – one of those expensive leather jobs. And his sweatshirt had a design on it – one of those environmental symbol things."

"Environmental symbol!" Vanessa exclaimed, then hastily lowered her voice. Megan's blue-green eyes grew enormous. They were already suspicious of the S.F.E. and its members. Was this still another bit of evidence pointing towards them? What if they weren't as innocent as Dave Wahlstrom seemed to think they were?

"Why won't you talk to the police?" Vanessa asked then, suspiciously. "Don't you know it's against the law to withhold evidence?"

Corin backed away from her a step or two. "I don't have EVIDENCE, woman! Seein' somebody isn't evidence! And no way am I talkin' to the police! I don't need that kind of hassle right now!"

"Corin, wait. You don't have to talk to the police," Megan said hastily. She looked at Vanessa warningly. _Don't scare him off!_ But she knew they had to ask one more thing, and that one thing might chase him off, too! "Look, I don't mean to sound insulting….But – how do we know that you're telling us the truth?" she said, slowly. "How do we know that YOU didn't do it, and are giving us false information?"

He glared at them. "I told you the truth, but if you don't want to do anything with what I told you, that's your business!" he snapped. Again, he stepped backwards, then abruptly turned and jogged away, disappearing into the crowd of onlookers.

"Shoot…." Vanessa sighed. "Maybe our interrogation technique needs a little work, you think?"

Before Megan could reply, an explosion was heard – followed by another!

"Look out!" Vanessa shrieked, as objects began hurtling through the broken windows of the art building like shrapnel. "It's the paint and stuff, blowing up!" More explosions resounded; it was beginning to sound like the Fourth of July on the Bayport Community College campus! "Duck!"

The girls dodged back beneath the shelter of the trees, and waited for the furor to subside. When it finally did, they started to emerge…and were startled to hear a woman's voice scream in horror:

"JACK!"


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 20

Danielle Tanner watched in horror as objects started rocketing through the air, propelled through the broken windows of the art center with terrifying force. She dropped into a crouch and shielded her head with her arms, sheltering near the smaller fire truck as pieces of wood, paint containers, chunks of plaster, art supplies of all sorts, rained down on them. Explosions rocked the air, some small, merely _'pops,'_ and others massive enough to cause people to stagger where they stood. She winced at the noise, and wished she had her fire helmet!

 _ **KA-BOOM!**_ Dani found herself sitting on the ground, knocked down by the concussive effect of the latest blast. _Wow, that was a big one!_ She looked around, and saw another hail of large and small objects hurtle downwards…and saw _something_ hit Jack Wayne with sharp impact, knocking him staggering backward off his feet!

"JACK!" Dani was screaming his name and running to his side before she realized it, fear warring with anger inside her. _NO, you can't do this!_ she raged silently _. I just met him! I'm not going to lose him already!_ Someone had set this fire, and someone was responsible for hurting Jack – _her_ Jack, doggone it! Maybe she'd just met him, but he was the first interesting guy she'd encountered – who was interested in return! – in what seemed like a very long time. _I can't believe how fast he got to me, but there's no use fighting it; I'm hooked, and I'm not going to back off now!_

Dani knelt beside Jack and took a look at him – and heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn't unconscious. He did look very dazed, however, and there was a small gash on the side of his forehead, where he'd been struck.

"Jack? You okay? Just lie still," she said soothingly.

He blinked rapidly, and squinted up at her. "Somehow, 'lie still, Jack,' doesn't make me feel awfully reassured," he muttered. Disregarding her words, he attempted to struggle up onto an elbow – until she put a hand against his chest and pushed him back down.

"Stay put until one of the pros can come look you over," she ordered firmly. "There's never a medic around when you need one," she added with some irritation, glancing over her shoulder. "You might be hurt worse than it looks, you know."

"I'm fine, really!" Jack protested. "I'm more stunned than anything else. I wasn't expecting to get hit by a building, after all!"

She smiled as she picked up something off the ground – the business end of a long paintbrush! "I hate to disappoint you, but you didn't get beaned by a building, or even part of a building. You got beaned by a No. 10 paintbrush!" The smile widened as she put the offending article into his hands. "See? There's the number." She indicated the remains of the gold-etched '10' still visible near the end of the wooden handle.

Jack looked at the brush and groaned. "It figures," he muttered, letting his hand fall to his side. "I get hurt because of an explosion, but do I get hit by something exciting, like a brick, or glass? No, I get hit by a paintbrush! I'll never live this one down."

Dani eyed him somewhat severely. "Getting hit by glass or a brick might have been more exciting, but it also would have damaged you a lot more," she reproved. "Besides, maybe no one else has to find out about it – at least, not right away." Her severe expression softened into a teasing smile. "Now stay quiet a little longer."

Jack groaned again, softly, but managed to smile in return, and he obediently stopped trying to sit up. _This girl is just too fantastic! How did I manage to luck out like this, finding the most wonderful girl in the world right here in Bayport?_

Dani was examining the cut on his head now, touching the area with cautious, gentle fingers. "This doesn't look too bad," she murmured. "I can get one of the little kits from the truck, and patch it up myself. But I still want the paramedics to look at you – if they think it needs stitches, you'll have to go to the hospital; they aren't allowed to do that."

"I won't have to go get stitches," Jack told her, hoping it was true. "It's just a little gouge – right? Tell me I'm right…. I'll be fine – although I'll admit, it hurts like crazy at the moment!"

"Hmmm." Dani didn't sound convinced. Her cursory inspection was interrupted by the arrival of one of the paramedics, who examined Jack a little more thoroughly.

"Well, I'd recommend that you see a real doctor, just to be on the safe side," the medic advised, digging in her case for antiseptic and bandages, "but this doesn't really look all that bad."

"That's good." Jack chose to disregard the advice about seeing a physician. "Because I have to fly tomorrow morning. I can't afford to miss flying that run." He squeezed his eyes shut in a wince of pain as the woman cleaned the cut, and felt comforting fingers clasp his. _Dani…._ He gripped tightly, then eased up as the discomfort passed, and the medic applied a bandage.

"Associating with the Hardys must have rubbed off on you," Dani teased softly. To Jack's gratification, she didn't remove her hand from his. "Frankenstein – Golden Boy…neither one ever wants to admit he's hurt. And their dad is just the same! Macho men, every single one of them, and now you're being the same way. Stubborn to the core!"

The medic moved off, taking her kit with her and leaving Jack and Dani alone for the moment. He sat up, gingerly, smiling a little at her blunt assessment of him.

"Maybe you're right," he conceded, then added a hesitant question: "Dani – you're still on for our lunch date tomorrow – aren't you?" Somehow, he was afraid she might have changed her mind.

"Of course I am, lout! You can't get out of it that easily!" she snapped – and touched his cheek again, very tenderly.

###

In the meantime, Vanessa and Megan had emerged from their sheltered spot near the trees. Dani's shriek had startled them, but a hasty look reassured them that while Jack might be damaged, it probably wasn't life-threatening. They looked around in amazement at the chaos surrounding them; the fire seemed to be under control now, and dying down, but the amount of debris and rubbish covering the area was astounding.

"I wonder if there's anything left in the building!" Vanessa mumbled, kicking a paint container out of her way as she walked. "It looks like everything there was, blew outside!"

Megan rubbed her neck, trying to ease the ache, and turned her head cautiously, trying to see if she could spot Frank or Joe anywhere. "Vanessa, do you see the boys? Do you know where they went?"

"No, I've been looking too." Vanessa shook her head, staring about. "They were talking to Con Riley the last time I saw them – weren't they?" Abruptly, Vanessa turned to face Megan, a look of pure horror crossing her face. "They wouldn't have been so stupid as to go inside…would they?"

Becoming increasingly worried now, the girls hurried across the rubble-covered grass towards the art center, towards where they had last glimpsed Frank and Joe.

"It looks like Jack got hit by something," Megan panted, pointing to where Jack was sprawled on the turf, with Dani and one of the paramedics kneeling beside him. She hoped Jack was okay – but at the moment she was more concerned about the whereabouts of Frank!

"They'll take care of him," Vanessa replied briefly, and Megan knew the blonde girl was sharing the same feelings – total absorption in her worry for Joe.

 _SURELY they weren't stupid enough to go inside the building!_ The thought whirled through Megan's mind. _Surely not…._ She hoped – she prayed – that they had enough sense to stay out, despite the lure of possible clues. She spotted Con Riley picking himself up off the grass, and brushing off his trousers. _They were with Con…._ He looked slightly shaken, but didn't appear to be injured, and indeed, he started barking out orders to his men only moments after he was on his feet. But there was no sign of Frank…or Joe. _WHERE are they?_

"Let's just walk along the front of the building," Vanessa suggested. "The boys have to be here somewhere! They wouldn't have run off. We were off talking to that boy, Corin, and they might have found someone else to question after they talked to Con. That's probably where they are."

"Okay." Megan nodded agreement, and the two set off, pacing along the sidewalk which fronted the art center – a sidewalk littered with so much rubbish and ash, they had to kick things aside and step over objects, again and again.

"THERE!" Megan pointed to one of the fire trucks, which was parked near the perimeter line set up earlier by the fire department. On the grass nearby, Joe was sitting up, shaking his head dazedly as if attempting to clear some cobwebs…and sprawled beside him, flat on his back, was Frank. An all-too-still Frank.

"Frank!" Megan ran to them, closely followed by Vanessa, and dropped to her knees beside him. Vanessa halted by Joe and crouched down, putting a tender hand against his cheek.

"Joe – sweetie, are you all right?"

"Yeah – yeah, babe, I'm fine." He gave her a slightly crooked grin. "I just got the wind knocked out of me by the concussion of that last big blast." He looked over at Frank, worry filling his blue eyes. "Is he…?"

"He's conscious," Megan answered the unvoiced question, and went on, now speaking to Frank. "Darling, talk to us…are you hurt?"

"No – just winded," Frank's voice was tight. "Guess I banged my arm a little…" He was holding his left shoulder, and chewing his lip in pain, but made an attempt to sit up.

"Here, take it easy—" Joe scrambled to his knees, and he and Megan helped Frank to a sitting position. Frank shook his head, blinking dizzily, and they could see his instant regret at the motion.

"Whoa, ouch…"

"Like Joe said, take it easy," Megan advised him. "Do you want me to find a paramedic?" She looked about, hoping to spot one, and was about to get up and search, when she felt a hand on her arm.

"Baby, no – I'm fine. My arm hurts, but no worse than it has any other day, today included. I'm sure I didn't do anything to re-injure it – and besides, the paramedics have better things to do." Frank cautiously tested his arm, moving it gingerly – and winced. _Oh well, it always hurts when I move it that way!_ "I landed more on my back than on my arm anyway – which is why the breath got knocked out of me." He looked at her more closely. "Are YOU all right?"

She nodded assurance. "Vanessa and I were under the trees."

"I landed on my back too," Joe said, standing up stiffly. "And I'm going to have the bruises to prove it. Football practice is not going to be fun, especially since we don't have any pads yet!" He grinned down at Megan and Frank. "And you two can stop playing 'who can get hurt worse?' any time now, you know." He extended a hand to Megan, then helped Frank to stand.

They began to walk slowly back alongside the smoldering building, trying to stay out of the way of the fire crews. Frank wrapped his arm around Megan's shoulders, holding her tightly against him.

"Baby," he said, suddenly remembering something, "where did you and Van go to? Who were you talking with, before?"

"Oh!" Megan cried, "we have some information for you! We were talking with a guy named Corin, who said he saw someone running out of the building! Corin said he was short, he was running fast, he had an expensive leather backpack, he was carrying a large grocery sack, and he was wearing a sweatshirt with an environmental logo on it," she said in a rush. "But the shirt was hooded; he didn't see hair, or get a good look at features."

"Did he say what environmental symbol?" Joe cut in.

"No, he didn't say," Vanessa answered him. "I don't think he knew. I suppose we could try to find him again, but…"

"It's a good start," Frank said approvingly. "Assuming that what Corin says is true, if the person he saw didn't start the fire, he might have seen who did. This could be a real lead – we should get Corin to talk to the police, and—"

"He won't." Megan shook her head firmly. "He said so. He acted scared of the police; like they were the last people he wanted to talk to." Suddenly, she remembered something else – perhaps not as vital, but very important to them, nevertheless. "Oh – we need to find out about Jack! He was hit by something!"

"Hit by something!" Frank looked at her, aghast, and broke into a half-trot, tugging her along. She immediately pulled him back down to a walk.

"Not so fast," Vanessa cautioned with a grin. "You two still need to catch your breaths, remember?" She took Joe's arm, making sure he didn't try running either.

As they walked, Vanessa abruptly pulled free from Joe's arm, and hurried to a light pole nearest the art building. "Look! It's another one of the flyers from the S.F.E.!" She touched it gently. "It might have just been put up!"

The others gathered close for a moment, looking at the incriminating poster. "Almost too convenient and obvious, don't you think?" Joe murmured, as they started on.

When they reached Jack and Dani, they were relieved to see the pilot on his feet. He was leaning against one of the trucks, two white butterfly bandages showing up starkly on his forehead, and was holding part of a paintbrush in his hand.

After being reassured as to his friend's well-being, Joe looked curiously at the paintbrush. "Thinking of taking up acrylics, Jack?" he queried.

Jack made a face at him, and Dani smiled a little, but didn't say anything. "It's a souvenir of the fire, that's all," Jack said wryly, and didn't elaborate. Joe stared at him a little longer. It was hard to tell for certain in the shifting lights and shadows, but it looked almost as if Jack was…blushing?

"Come on, Baby, I've got to get you home." Frank urged Megan in the direction of the parking lot. "This has been one heck of a first day back, for you! Are you doing okay?"

She laughed a little. "I'm achy and exhausted – and I wouldn't have missed it for the world! But I think I'll have to concoct an edited version of the evening's activities, for Mom!" Laughter trailed back, as the Hardys and their girls headed for their cars.

Jack, alone with Dani once more, felt torn. "I should get home," he admitted. "Morning flights start early. I'd like to stay here – with you – but I know you'll be busy."

"I'll be busy for awhile," she agreed, "although it won't be all night. I'm not supposed to be on duty, after all."

"See you tomorrow, then?" Jack tentatively reached for her hand, and was thrilled when she unhesitatingly put it into his.

"Yes. And I promise I won't forget to call you, so we can set a time for lunch. Now, go home and take some aspirin. Let that sister of yours take care of you." She smiled at him teasingly.

"Oh boy, April's going to have a field day with this one," he lamented, chuckling ruefully. "A paintbrush, for Pete's sake….Goodnight, Dani."

#####

A block or two away from the burning Everding Art Center, a man sat in a dark-blue Mercedes-Benz convertible, watching the flames leap into the darkening night sky, and listening to the concussive explosions. He puffed lazily on his cigarette, and leaned forward to flick the ashes into an ashtray.

"Interesting…."

And then he started his vehicle, and drove away.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 21

 _WEDNESDAY, THE NEXT DAY_

"Interesting place, Bayport," Michael Ranson observed to his wife as they strolled hand-in-hand along the stone paths laid between rows of green shrubs, and patches of grass – and the two, three, and four-story buildings of Bayport Community College.

Erica, who had been cooped up in close custody in their hotel room since Sunday evening, gazed around, enjoying merely being outside in the fresh air and sunshine. She hadn't enjoyed Michael's insistence that she stay in, where he was sure she was safe, rather than exploring more of Bayport; she thought it was a little unfair. After all, _he_ had gone out the night before, but he'd been very firm about _her_ staying in the hotel! At any rate, she was glad to be here. She liked watching all the people; students scurrying back and forth to classes, or other places on campus. Other adults – some students, some faculty, she assumed – went on about their various businesses.

"I like it here, where people are learning," she said. "I never went to college – but I've always admired people who do. I wonder if I might have liked going?" They walked a little further. "It's a pretty campus," Erica resumed speaking, "except for all the burnt buildings. I wonder what it would have been like to go to school here?" Erica sounded just a little wistful. "Maybe I could have gotten a degree, or something….Not that I need one," she added, with a smile at her husband. She moved her hand to grip his upper arm, and tiptoed to kiss him. Michael smiled down at her, patting her hand and kissing her in return.

"You could still go," he reminded her. "If you thought you'd like to. No reason you couldn't. You're only 23; you're the same age as a lot of college students. You might like it. Not here, necessarily, but… do you think you might want to, sometime?" They continued their walk, silent for awhile. Michael was thoughtful, as he regarded the buildings they passed. _Red brick seems to be the in-vogue thing for buildings,_ he mused. _It started umpteen years ago, and is still going strong in institutions all across America. Always a market for brick…._ "You know, Erica, I should consider buying out all the red-brick factories in the U.S., I could make a mint from them! Assuming that people keep building, that is."

He was distracted from his musings for a moment, watching a couple – a tall, dark-haired boy with his arm in a sling, and a girl with red-gold hair that glinted in the sunlight – go into one of the nearby buildings. "Erica, look – that must be Hardy's oldest boy – the redhead is his girlfriend; I saw her once before, in Tahoe."

Erica looked, and nodded. All she had seen of the two was their backs as they entered, all unknowing that they were under observation.

"I wonder if Frank Hardy is as smart as his old man…" Michael speculated idly, still gazing after them.

His wife smiled at that comment, but didn't respond to the implied question, and they continued their walk, following a path which eventually led to what had been the football field. The burnt-out hulk of the stadium loomed somberly ahead, but the Ransons didn't seem to be especially affected by the devastation they saw. They merely kept walking…just to pass the time.

But Michael was still thinking – thinking hard. Pondering the attack on Erica at the mall…and its possible connections. _Could it be connected to business? Like to that Markham Glass place, that I'm having Hardy look into? Or could he have been right, and it was connected to Hardy himself, and Erica just got in the way?_ He hugged Erica against him suddenly, vowing fiercely to himself that _nobody_ was going to get away with threatening Erica, whether the threats had been meant for her, or not! _Wonder what Fenton's doing to protect HIS wife? Hah, I wouldn't let anyone else keep an eye on Erica for me! She's much safer with me, after all…._ He sighed inwardly, remembering that mysterious downpour of golf balls which could have easily knocked him out, injured him, perhaps killed him…if not for Fenton Hardy's swift intervention. _COULD that have been against me? Something having to do with Erica, or her family?_

"What are you thinking about, darling?" Erica's voice roused Michael from his somber thoughts.

"Oh, just thinking more about the school," he lied, smiling at her fondly. "Have you ever wanted to own a college, love? This one may be going cheap – if it loses another building or two!"

Erica regarded him for a moment. "Michael," she said curiously, "where did you go last night?"

"Oh – just around. Exploring Bayport a little," he replied easily. "Looking for good real estate buys, that sort of thing." He grinned. "Just in case you wanted to own a college."

Erica's brow puckered; she wondered whether he was actually serious, or just teasing her. Then she chuckled, hugged his arm, and turned again to resume their walk through the campus….And thought, idly, about property values….

#####

 _I hate leaving Laura at home alone right now!_ Fenton Hardy thought glumly. _Even if it is to work on the job Michael Ranson hired me for._ He trudged across the parking lot towards the entrance to Markham Glass, continuing to think gloomy thoughts.

 _After all, someone tried to kidnap her…._ That fact wasn't lost on him, not by a long shot. The only thing that had convinced him to leave the house that morning was Laura's assurances that she'd leave the perimeter alarms on all the time, and if she had to go somewhere, she'd make sure one of the boys was with her. _THAT doesn't count for much; both Frank and Joe are at school!_ Fenton fumed. _And all promises aside, she just might take it in her head to dash out for a gallon of milk, or something…._ It didn't make him feel a great deal better, but he'd contacted Ezra Collig, the Chief of Police, and made him promise to step up patrols around their neighborhood. If the alarms went off at the Hardy house, Fenton wanted someone to be there on the double – and not ten minutes too late!

For now, though, he had work to do. He was being conducted on a walk-through of the Markham Glass factory, escorted by none other than Aaron Markham himself, the owner and founder of the company. Markham was a personable man, genial and talkative, and he seemed to be rightfully proud of the business he'd built up from scratch.

Markham had gladly related the whole story of the business – that he'd started small, working as a glass-blower in the shop of a friend of his father's. How he'd gotten the idea to go into something on a much larger scale – decorative window panes, tabletops…. He'd gotten lucky in timing, for a great many corporate buildings were being erected, and most of them were seemingly made of glass! "Mirrors and glass will always be wanted," Aaron Markham pronounced with assurance. "But now – well, I'm getting on in years, and my wife and I don't have any children. It's time to sell up, and enjoy retirement."

Fenton liked Aaron Markham. The man had to be eighty, if he was a day, but he moved like a man of fifty, and his eyes were keen, and shrewdly intelligent. And he seemed happy with the world, and happy with the prospect of selling his company, making a tidy profit, and settling down to enjoy the rest of his life. Mr. Hardy couldn't believe there was anything shady going on with Markham Glass – _if_ there was. After all, Michael hadn't been sure, one way or another; he just wanted to know!

By now they were about halfway through the tour of the large factory, which was located on the waterfront of Bayport's warehouse district. Fenton looked about him, despairingly. _I could look around here for days,_ he realized, _and not see everything!_ But what he had seen, he liked. It was clean, and the employees seemed to like their work. If Michael Ranson did buy the place, Fenton hoped he'd leave it intact, the way it was. It would be a real shame for so many people to lose their jobs, if Ranson decided to close, or downsize, or merge with another company….

He'd called Laura frequently during the day, making sure she was still all right, and he could tell it was beginning to grate on her nerves. She didn't like being checked up on all the time. The last time he'd called, she'd laughed – somewhat tightly – and told him to RELAX ALREADY, she was home, she was fine, and nothing was going to happen to her inside their own house, for heaven's sake!

"We've been broken into before, you know," Fenton had reminded her, wishing he didn't have to say things like that.

 _"I'll be fine!"_ Laura had sounded a trifle more snappish when she repeated the words. Fenton winced and sighed as he ended the call, and reluctantly returned to his investigation.

Aaron Markham had graciously allowed him to look at the company's financial records…dry, dusty, boring financial records, the bane of Fenton's existence as an investigator! He hated paperwork with a passion; he'd made himself learn how to check for discrepancies in records and paperwork, but that didn't mean he LIKED it!

And there had been nothing to find, damn it! Everything looked open and above-board and straight.

 _Tomorrow I'll talk to some of the employees,_ Fenton mused, as he walked towards the exit doors. _Maybe I'll find out something then…._

He walked towards his car, admiring the view of the bay…

…and didn't even catch a glimpse of the person who shoved him – shoved him hard. So hard that Fenton Hardy went arching out over the railing, and into the cold waters of Barmet Bay below!


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 22

Megan watched Kirk Moncrief as they sat in Music Appreciation class. Trying not to seem as if she was watching him, of course – attempting to make it look completely casual. And trying to compose herself. She knew she had to catch him after class was over, before he disappeared, and convince him to talk to her. Well, that might not be hard. Kirk seemed to like her okay, after all, but he _was_ sort of standoffish. Shy, maybe?

 _It's now or never,_ she thought. _I want to find out about the S.F.E., and_ _help_ _this investigation, rather than hinder it, or just stand idly by! I'm not brainless, and I took those same classes Frank did, last year, and I can help, I know I can, even if I wasn't raised with investigation as the main dinner table conversation my whole life!_ She sighed, quietly. She didn't like feeling like a hindrance, and she didn't like feeling helpless. She also didn't like feeling tired and achy, which she currently did, although she hated to admit it. She knew she was getting better – her headache wasn't nearly as bad as it had been, and her neck only hurt when she moved it wrong…and her nose didn't hurt much anymore, unless it was bumped…but still, she wished it didn't hurt at all!

She knew she _looked_ much better. The black eyes and other bruises had faded to a jaundiced shade of gold, and she'd taken the tape off her nose, which was back to its normal shape and size once more, with only a tiny bump added to the bridge. If you didn't know it was there, it wasn't even noticeable. As Frank had assured her, mouth cuts healed fast; five days had reduced them to near-oblivion. And as for her forehead…. _Two more days – I can get the stitches out on Friday!_

"…and we'll cover that in the next class." Megan blinked, realizing that the professor was giving them the reading assignment for the next class! Somehow, she'd managed to space out through the whole class period, and hadn't paid attention to the lecture at all. _It's a good thing Professor Handrich is the sort that takes his exam questions out of the books! And I suppose I could always borrow notes – again!_ She stifled a little chortle of laughter, imagining herself asking Kirk for his notes when she'd been right there in class!

Speaking of Kirk…Megan hastily looked around, hoping she hadn't lost him due to her inattention. He was stuffing things into his backpack, she noted…and then realized with a start, that it was a _brown suede_ backpack! It didn't look all that expensive, but appearances could be deceiving, both ways. It might be costly, or then again, Corin might have only thought it was. How could you tell, especially in the dark, on a moving target? It had some stickers on it, she noticed – one that said **RECYCLE!**

He wasn't wearing a sweatshirt with an environmental logo – _well, really, Megan, what did you expect?_ she asked herself derisively. _People_ _do_ _change clothes occasionally, you know!_ But what if Kirk _was_ the person Corin had seen running from the art building last night? He was in the S.F.E., after all. Even if he hadn't set the fire, he might know something about it!

Megan got up and hurried after Kirk, feeling a touch of déjà vu as she remembered chasing after Frank, holding that gold pen he'd so conveniently dropped…. She followed him down the hall from the Music Appreciation classroom, and caught up with him before he got too far ahead.

"Kirk—" Megan tapped his shoulder, lightly.

Kirk Moncrief turned around, looking startled, then surprised to see her. "Megan – hi. It was good to see you back in class," he said, smiling a little. "Can I do something for you?"

"I wanted to thank you – again – for letting me borrow your books last weekend, especially since you were nice enough to bring them to me, and pick them up." Megan smiled – that warm smile with the elusive dimple, that had captivated Frank Hardy from the moment he met her – smiled sweetly at Kirk Moncrief, and felt like a hypocrite. "Are you in a hurry?" she asked. "If not, I'd like to buy you a soda, or a cup of coffee at the Student Center – just to say thanks."

Again, she was assaulted by memories: _"I wondered if I could maybe buy you a cup of coffee this morning?"_ That was what she had said to Frank on the phone, a year ago… _STOP it Megan, this isn't the same thing at all!_ But it was entirely too close.

He blushed. "That's…really not necessary," he mumbled. But the smile lurking around the corners of his mouth told her that he'd like to be coaxed into it.

"Oh, come on. I've got some time to kill right now, and I hate sitting around drinking coffee by myself." _I wonder if this is how Mata Hari got started?_ Megan let her eyelashes flutter slightly, and smiled again – and even bruised and bandaged, Megan Wright's face – and charm – was a force to be reckoned with. Kirk never had a chance.

"Well…okay. For a few minutes." Still blushing, Kirk followed her down the steps of the music building, and they walked across to the Student Center. Megan paid for two drinks – it turned out that Kirk preferred tea – and they settled at a table.

When they had sat companionably sipping for a few minutes, and talking about their shared classes, Megan casually broached the integral subject. "What do you think about all the fires on campus?"

He shrugged, keeping his eyes on his cup of tea. "I don't know. I guess I haven't thought about it too much. It seems weird that someone would be doing it on our campus. It's only a little community college, after all. It's not like we get major government funding, or anything like that – or have, like…oh, I don't know, monkeys used for testing, to protest. Things like that."

"I think it's weird too," Megan agreed. "And the places burned are odd – I mean, they don't seem to be related in any way. It's so random!" She sipped her iced mocha, carefully. "You were talking about the S.F.E., the other day – did you know that some of their fliers were hung up around the different fire scenes right after they happened…."

Kirk stared at her for an instant, then shrugged again. "That doesn't surprise me. At least they'll get some exposure that way," he said dryly. "Students For Earth is a small organization, and if some enterprising soul managed to think of putting up fliers where they'll be seen…" He emitted a sardonic chuckle. "At least people will see the fliers that way. People just don't care enough about what we're doing to the earth, Megan – people should wake up and pay attention to what's going on! It's important!"

She nodded. _Finally he's opening up a little!_ "I'd like to hear a little more about Students For Earth. I know you're a member of it – What sorts of things do they do? Hold rallies? Fundraisers?"

"Yeah, they hold rallies." Kirk sounded slightly disgusted. "They try to raise money for some environmental cause or other. The last one was for the Save the Whales program. The one before that – oh, they helped buy 20 acres of rainforest." Another dry chuckle. "As if that's really going to do a lot of good! And writing to Congressmen isn't much help, either. They need to do more than that!"

Megan felt as if she was trying to walk a balance beam; one misstep and… "What sort of things do you think they should do?" she asked, cautiously neutral.

"We should hold protests!" Kirk's eyes gleamed with a slightly fanatical light. "Real protests, not the wimpy little things they've done before! When President Mitchell cancelled the funding for the Adirondack Project, we should have had major protest rallies about it! Done something real! The Adirondack Project would have changed how medical testing is done – it would have been a lot safer, and a lot faster, and not involved animals. It would have been a big scientific breakthrough! And they shot the funding down!"

"The Adirondack Project, hmm? I've heard of that." Megan managed an encouraging tone, but inside, her mind was racing. _The Adirondack? Frank mentioned that! He said it wouldn't have worked at all!_ She wasn't sure of the specific reasons why it wouldn't have worked; she couldn't remember Frank saying – but he'd said that the original specs of the project were all wrong, and that several independent companies had tested the theories – and they had failed, time and time again. "But I thought it had been tested," she ventured, "and there were some problems with it."

Kirk glared at her. "Problems can be overcome. You shouldn't believe all the propaganda you hear," he muttered. "President Mitchell paid people off," he growled, "paid them to say that, so that he wouldn't have to fund the project. It was getting too expensive for him, and he wouldn't have gotten his next raise in salary, or something…."

Megan was slightly taken aback by Kirk's sudden vehemence. His reaction wasn't quite what she had expected – where had this abrupt venomous attitude towards President Mitchell come from? She was beginning to feel slightly nervous about being so close to Kirk Moncrief. "Was it President Mitchell's doing that scotched the program? Does he have that much power over funding, then? I thought there was a whole board of directors, or something like that."

Something of her feelings must have bled through, for Kirk suddenly looked uncomfortable, and he got to his feet. "I – well, maybe…I suppose they do…I think…um….I can't talk anymore right now – thanks for the tea, Megan, but I've got to go now. Bye." He picked up his backpack, and was gone, hurrying out the glass doors, before Megan could do much more than stammer 'Uh – bye!"

Irritated at his abrupt departure but still unnerved, she sat quietly for a moment, collecting herself and thinking, before she delved in her backpack for her cell phone. Thoughtfully, she pressed the digits.

" _Wayne's World Air Charter Service, this is Frank…"_

"Frank? It's me—"

" _Baby!"_ The cool professionalism of Frank's voice melted into loving warmth. _"How'd it go?"_

"Okay…I guess." Megan couldn't help sounding doubtful; she wasn't quite sure exactly why Kirk had suddenly flared up and left as he had.

" _Hang on, lemme grab Joe, and he can listen in on the extension…he's outside…."_ Frank set down the receiver and departed; Megan sat and waited impatiently for his return. In a few moments, she heard another receiver lifted, and Joe said _"Hey, Red, I'm here,"_ then Frank picked up his, as well.

"Okay, this is what happened—" Megan repeated the conversation as well as she could remember. "Doesn't it seem a little – well, strange?"

" _It certainly does."_ Frank sounded positively grim. _"That project was proven to be unworkable, time and again. Why would Kirk want the funding for it restored?"_

"He seemed almost – well, I hate to say fanatical, but that's what it felt like – he was fanatical about it!" Megan shivered a little. "It was like it was his own personal project that someone had taken away from him! And he certainly seems to harbor some resentment towards Mr. Mitchell!"

" _And that's just the person we're looking for; someone who might have slashed Mitchell's brake line, and put the accelerant container in his car. Good job, Red."_ Joe's approbation was sincere. _"You probably did something no one else could do."_

" _Baby, you did great – but are you okay?"_ Frank sounded worried. _"You sound awfully…_ _tired_ _– and kind of shaky."_

"I am tired," she admitted. "I'm going to go home and lie down for awhile. I'm supposed to meet Vanessa at 5, and she'll give me a ride home."

" _Good!"_ The relief in Frank's voice was palpable.

"And Frank – you know what?"

"What, honey?"

"I don't think I'll try interrogating Kirk any more. I think I'll stay away from him after this. All of a sudden, I feel like – like there's something not quite right about him."

#####

"Fenton! Fenton Hardy!"

Somewhere above him, a voice was calling his name, shouting it frantically, although the sound was muffled by the hiss of water against his eardrums. Fenton managed to right himself in the water, and struck for the surface, kicking hard. His legs felt weighted down, but he was wearing his best dress shoes, and he was darned if he was going to lose them, if he could make it to the surface without kicking them off. His chest was beginning to ache; he wondered if he was going to make it all the way up before he ran out of air!

Finally, he broke the water's surface. He spluttered, coughing hard, and spat up what felt like a half gallon of water. _Thank God Barmet Bay's not polluted,_ he thought as he trod water and continued to cough. _That would be all I'd need, to catch something dire from the water!_ Responding to the frantic hails from the dock, he turned and began slowly stroking in that direction.

A couple of men from Markham Glass were waiting to help him out of the water, climbing down the ladder attached to the dock to assist him. Fenton stopped on one of the lower rungs, despite the chilly water lapping around him, and tried to catch his breath. _This is_ _so_ _not my day!_ He spat out more water, clinging to the ladder to keep from dropping back in.

"Come on, Mr. Hardy, let's get you out of this," one of the men urged him gently. He offered a hand, and helped Fenton slowly ascend the rungs, then clamber up over the edge and onto the dock itself.

Aaron Markham was waiting there, for once looking close to his eighty years, his face creased with worry. "What happened?" he demanded, as Fenton moved away from the water. "How did you end up in the Bay, for God's sake?"

For a few moments, Fenton could only blink at him, bemused. How _had_ he ended up in the bay? Then he remembered the push! Someone had shoved him! He started to explain what had happened, and then broke off. _Play it cagey, Fenton, don't let on! It might have been an attempt on your life, or it might have just been a warning._ "I'm…not quite sure," he said at last. _Better to sound dumb than to tip someone off!_

Deciding he really ought to call Laura and tell her what had happened, rather than to traipse into the house dripping wet and scare her to death, Fenton pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and then stared at it in chagrin. Being doused in the bay hadn't done it any good; it didn't appear to be working at the moment. _Just one more thing to go wrong…._ He swore quietly, and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"Mr. Hardy – here, use mine." One of the Markham Glass employees in the group surrounding him was holding out a cell phone. Fenton accepted it with a grateful nod, and a second later paused in dialing to thank another employee, who had appeared with a blanket to drape about the drenched detective.

"Laura? It's me. Honey, I – yes, I know you're all right. Glad to hear it – you're probably more all right than I am right now….No, I'm not hurt, exactly, but I did take an unexpected dive into the bay…."

Having reassured Laura, who assured him she'd have warm soup and dry clothes ready when he got home, Fenton finished the call and returned the phone to its owner, thanking him again. He handed back the blanket, thanked the men who had helped him from the bay, and bid Mr. Markham goodbye, promising to return the next day for some interviews. He squelched to his car and drove home, thinking bitterly to himself: _This whole_ _week_ _has just plain sucked…._


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 23

"Babe, what would I do without you?" Joe heaved a deep sigh, and leaned to kiss Vanessa's cheek as they exited the classroom. He pulled her over to the wall, and positioned himself as a buffer against the stream of passersby. "High school calculus was bad enough – college calculus is ten times worse. Can you tell me again why I'm taking it?"

"Because you wanted classes with me?" Vanessa smiled demurely, but her blue-gray eyes twinkled with a teasing light.

"Well – yeah," Joe chuckled, ruefully. "Anyway, Beautiful, you've made the impossibly incomprehensible at least somewhat understandable – just like last year!" Another sigh: "At least, for today….But why is it so hard?"

"Joe, you've just got a mental hang-up about calc, that's all." Vanessa took his hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "You think you can't do it, so you fight it every step of the way. One of these times, something will click inside your head, and you'll realize you really can do it without it killing you."

"Never happen," Joe vowed shaking his head in resignation, but he was still smiling. The two stood there for a moment, ignoring the students pushing past them, then Vanessa pulled her hand from Joe's to check her watch.

"Oh no, I'm going to be sooooo late, if I don't go right now!"

"So go—" Joe kissed her and gave her a little shove at the same time. "Call me – I have football practice, if you can believe it! Mid-morning football practice, woo-hoo! But I'll be at work by 3:00."

"I will. Go get 'em, sport!" she laughed, and turned to dash for her next class.

Joe stepped away from the wall and merged with the traffic flow heading for the side exit closest to the parking lots. As he walked, he tried to figure out exactly how it was that college seemed to be so jam-packed busy. He had had more classes in high school, hadn't he, and he'd had spare time galore – _let's see._ S _ix classes, plus some study time, plus football practice. And now football practice is slotted in whenever….Plus work. Plus investigating a case…._

 _No wonder I'm so busy all the time!_

Joe was grinning as he raced into the parking lot and tossed his books into the back of the Aztek, preparing to head for Bayport High, where today's practice was being held. With the college playing field demolished, the team had been practicing when and where it could: practice scrimmages on the soccer field, drills on the small practice field – but today, the coach wanted them to get used to playing on Bayport High's field. They were intending to use it for the games, he'd told them. Well, that was fine with Joe. He was totally familiar with that field; he knew every yard of it intimately!

 _But even if I am, and a few of the other players are, it's not going to help_ _this_ _sorry excuse for a team all that much!_ Joe thought glumly. He suspected that the coach was one to champion the cause of wishful thinking! _Eternal optimist…._

"Joe! Hey, Joe!"

About to climb into the Aztek, Joe paused at the hail, and turned around. To his surprise, he discovered none other than Dave Wahlstrom running up to him! Even though Dave must have had to sprint fairly hard to catch up to him, he wasn't even winded, Joe noted with admiration.

"I'm glad I caught you! Got a minute?" Dave asked hopefully.

"Just barely," Joe replied. "I'm supposed to get over to the high school for football practice."

"I'll try to make this fast," the other boy said. "After we talked on Sunday, I've been thinking. I asked around a little bit, talked to some of the other members of the S.F.E…just to see if there might be any truth to one of them being behind the fires."

"Yeah?" Intrigued, Joe leaned against the side of the car and paid closer attention. "Find out anything?"

"Nobody really said anything directly to me," Dave admitted, "but I overheard a couple of the senior members talking in the S.F.E. office, afterwards. And one of them said 'the weirdo has to be behind this!'"

"The weirdo?" Joe cut in, immediately alert. "Who's that?"

"I don't know," Dave admitted. "And when I went to ask, neither one would tell me. They just sort of…looked at each other – you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Joe nodded his understanding.

"I can tell you their names, maybe they'd talk to you," Dave offered. "Mitch Sullivan and Harry Boggins."

Joe shrugged. The names meant nothing to him. "I don't recognize them; they must not have gone to high school here. Or they were way ahead of me."

"That's okay, if you come by the S.F.E. office tomorrow – it's a little hole-in-the-wall place in Arbuthnot Hall's basement – if you come by between two and four, they should be there, and I could introduce you. Then you could ask them for yourself." Dave hesitated. "Or I could give it another try."

"I'll try to be there – but you be careful, Dave," Joe admonished the other boy, "Snooping around can be dangerous sometimes. And people who burn down buildings might not mind killing – if it meant they wouldn't get found out!"

Dave blanched at that, but then his mouth tightened resolutely. "I will ask, though, Joe. I'm trying to help, you know."

Joe surveyed him a moment, then smiled. "Thanks – and I'm sorry if I didn't seem appreciative, or sounded patronizing. You are helping, Dave. But now I've got to go; I may be late as it is!" He opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, giving Dave Wahlstrom a wave goodbye as the boy stepped back and turned to go.

#####

As usual, practice was a disaster. Things seemed to go from bad to worse. Missed assignments, botched plays, fumbles…Joe was ready to tear his hair out, and he wondered how the coach managed to keep from giving up in total despair. Several mistakes on the quarterback's part, _and_ one of the running backs, had Joe wishing he'd never bothered to play on this team…except that it was all he had, and he really _did_ like playing, he really did….

 _Oooofff!_ Joe lay flat on the field with a 250-lb tackle sitting on top of him, the end result of yet another play botched up by someone else. When the tackle got up, Joe stayed down, wondering if all his bones were still intact, and fearing they weren't!

"Hardy! You okay?" Bryce Boderman, the tackle, extended a hand down. Slowly, Joe pushed himself up and accepted the hand. Once on his feet, he decided he'd merely been shaken up, but it took a definite effort of will to limp back to his position on the field.

 _I wish I could talk Frank into playing,_ he mused. _Even wearing a cast, he'd be better at quarterback than the one we've got now! Maybe with a decent_ _quarterback, we actually might_ _win_ _a game or two! Heck, maybe I should ask the coach if_ _I_ _could play quarterback!_ But he knew he'd never had Frank's accuracy with a football; he'd probably not be any better than their current one, and he was – he knew it, without bragging – one of the better receivers! Best to stay where he was, and not muck around switching positions.

Still thinking morosely about the ruinous practice, and looking with no anticipation towards Saturday's game, Joe got into his vehicle to drive back to campus for his last class of the day.

Concentrating on taking notes in U.S. Government, he managed to forget temporarily about football. The class was fairly boring, he decided, but it was a requirement, so he simply had to make the best of a bad bargain. When the hour ended, he was free for the day – free, that is, except for the fact that he was due out at Wayne's World for a four-hour shift loading cargo! But first, he had an important errand.

Joe pulled out his cell phone and his college student directory. He looked up a number and tried dialing…and got nothing. Sighing in exasperation, he tried another.

" _Bayport Community College, how may I direct your call?"_

"Can you connect me with President Mitchell's temporary office?" Joe requested politely. But although the person was perfectly willing to do so, when the call was transferred, Joe discovered that Mitchell wasn't _in_ his temporary office in the Student Center!

" _He's working from his home today,"_ the president's secretary informed him. _"Would you care to leave a message?"_

Well, no, Joe _didn't_ want to leave a message. He thanked the secretary and hung up, then sat fuming a few seconds, before an idea occurred to him. Hastily, he pulled out the directory again, and turned to the section marked **Faculty**. _Aha! There it is!_ Printed below the number of the college president's campus office was his home phone number – and his street address! Joe grinned in triumph, laid the directory on the passenger seat where he could refer to it, and started his car.

En route to Mitchell's home, Joe realized he probably should call first, rather than showing up unannounced, but when he tried the number, it rang and rang, with no answer, and no answering-machine pickup. Either Mr. Mitchell wasn't home – in which case, Joe's errand was going to turn out to be futile – or he was ignoring his phone! _Well, I tried_ , Joe thought, restarting the Aztek and resuming his journey. He hated to be rude, considering who he was dropping in on, but rude or not, he wasn't going to _not_ go!

Mitchell's home was located in the Bayport Heights subdivision, a fairly new upscale development on the outskirts of town. Joe located the proper address, and parked on the wide street running in front of the house – a three-story mansion of a house, he noted appreciatively, sitting on what appeared to be a double or triple lot. He went up to the door and pushed the bell – and was surprised to hear, instead of the usual _ding-dong_ , a phrase of classical music!

He was even more surprised when the door was opened by none other than President Mitchell himself, clad in jeans, a light blue denim shirt, and running shoes!

"Yes, can I help you?" Mr. Mitchell eyed Joe doubtfully, obviously quite willing to send him on his way.

"President Mitchell? I'm Joe Hardy," Joe introduced himself. "I believe you met my brother, Frank, the other day. I've come to talk to you about the case you asked us to look into – if you have a few minutes?"

"Oh, of course, Joe." The man's cool reserve dissolved into a warm smile, and he opened the door more widely to admit the younger Hardy. "Please come in." He shut the door behind Joe, and extended his hand. "I'm glad to meet you. Come this way." He led Joe through the entryway, and down a short hallway to a magnificently furnished den. With a cherry-wood desk and matching bookshelves and fireplace mantel, and plushy green carpeting, the room was beautiful – but Joe noted that it also was a total disaster area, with most surfaces covered in stacks of paper and file folders. He grinned a little – he felt right at home in this place!

"I apologize for the mess," Mitchell said ruefully, scooping a bunch of files from one of the chairs and gesturing for Joe to seat himself. "I've found it's more relaxing to work from here than in that makeshift office I've got in the Student Center – but of course, that means that all the paperwork gets transferred here, too! It's amazing how much paper is still around, after the fire! And I do need to be on campus a great deal of the time, of course."

"I can imagine you're very busy," Joe acknowledged, making himself comfortable. He watched Mr. Mitchell sink into the large, green-leather chair behind his desk.

"I have to meet with the college's Board of Trustees tomorrow morning," Mitchell sighed, "about the arson allegations. It's entirely possible I may be out of a job very soon. So—" he looked up at Joe hopefully, "I hope you have some good news for me?"

"I'm sorry." Joe shook his head, feeling terrible at disappointing the man. "We really don't know yet who might have set the fires. We haven't found enough to go on. I wish we did." He watched Mitchell's face fall, and felt even worse. He hated to see Dr. Mitchell in trouble for something he didn't do – and Joe was quite certain that Mitchell was innocent of setting the fires!

"Oh," Mitchell sighed, "Well, what can I do for you then, Joe? You said you wanted to discuss the case?"

Joe hesitated a moment, then plunged in. "Dr. Mitchell, can you think of ANYONE who might have a personal vendetta against you? Someone who might want you out of the way – or who would like to discredit you in front of your peers, destroy your reputation?"

Mitchell shrugged, smiling a little. "Well, there have been plenty of disgruntled students who have been – ahem – requested to leave. There have been teachers whom I've had to fire, for one reason or another. But no more here than at any other school, I feel quite certain of that. And I don't believe I made any of them angry enough that they would go to this much trouble to make me look bad, or to endanger my job. Certainly not angry enough to burn down the school! Of course, with some people, you never can tell."

Joe nodded, pondering a moment more. "Okay – what about other groups? Activist groups. Student groups, that sort of thing. For instance, have you ever had any particular trouble with the Students For Earth?"

Mitchell eyed him sharply. "The Students For Earth?" he repeated.

"Yes." Joe leaned forward in his chair, watching the other man closely. "There have been fliers advertising that group posted near a couple of the fire sites – around the stadium, and then near the art building. It almost makes it look like the S.F.E. is trying to take credit for the fires."

The president shrugged again, looking bewildered. "Not that I can remember," he said, "I recall that one particular member was quite upset when I was obliged to cut funding for a project that he felt especially committed to – it was a project that would have purportedly saved the lives of some animals. But several independent research studies showed that the project wouldn't have worked as projected."

Joe nodded. _The Adirondack Project…what Kirk Moncrief talked to Megan about…._ "What about other groups?"

"I can't think of any," Mitchell reiterated. "I'm not sure – but I honestly can't think of any group who would do what's been done. And as far as past students, or teachers – I feel that it must be someone – a student, an instructor – who is on campus now. Someone who may be mentally unbalanced. Unstable."

As they talked, Joe had been looking idly around the den, taking in the accoutrements as well as the mess. He saw several framed photos – family members, he supposed, or other people close to the president – on the fireplace mantel, on a bookshelf, even on Mitchell's desk. Thoughtfully, Joe reached into his pocket and took something out.

"Sir," he said, "I believe you saw this the other night when you talked to Frank. We found it near the Administration building after it burned. Do you have any idea who might have dropped it there? Or…put it there?"

Mitchell sighed and extended his hand for the half-photo. He gazed sadly at it for a moment, staring down at the picture: himself, with part of an arm missing, as if it had been around the shoulders of another person. The person who was no longer in the picture. "Yes," he said, finally. "I recognize it, and I suspect it very likely belonged to my nephew." He handed the photo back to Joe, and reached into the bottom drawer of his desk. "I have one like it here – the full picture."

Joe looked up sharply. "Your…nephew?" he asked slowly. He watched as Mitchell displayed the small framed picture. There was the college president, smiling, and beside him was a short, somewhat pudgy male figure with tousled brown hair and the beginnings of a beard. The boy was smiling at the camera too. A woman with features similar to Mitchell's stood on the other side of the boy.

"Yes – my sister's son, Kirk. They're the other people in the photograph, and we each had a copy."

 _Holy cow! Could that be Kirk Moncrief!? It's got to be him! And he's President Mitchell's nephew?_

"You don't…think…he could be…behind this?" Joe asked delicately.

President Mitchell shook his head. "No, I wouldn't think so. He's very intelligent, and extremely passionate about the things he believes in, but…no, I don't see how. Not Kirk. Not at all."

Despite Mitchell's reassurances, Joe didn't feel convinced. He had some doubts about Kirk Moncrief, but he didn't say anything out loud. Re-pocketing the picture, he got to his feet.

"Dr. Mitchell, thank you for taking the time to talk to me. Frank and I will keep you informed about everything that happens. And I'd appreciate it if you could let us know if ANYTHING occurs to you that might help with this case. Even if it's only a suspicion, or an idea that seems ludicrous."

"I will," Mitchell promised. He walked Joe to the front door, and stood there in the opening while Joe got in the Aztek. He didn't close the door until Joe had turned on the ignition and started to drive away.

 _Well…was that a complete bust, or did I find out something very interesting?_ Joe was thinking hard as he headed for the highway leading to the airport and Wayne's World. _Kirk Moncrief, eh? That's an interesting little tidbit of news to share with Frank…to add to the other interesting little tidbits. Wish we had more than tidbits, though! He didn't look like the arson type in that photo, but what's an arson 'type,' after all? And he did freak out Red pretty badly yesterday…._

Joe sighed as he made the last turn before gaining the highway, frustrated by his lack of success, and then growled beneath his breath as a car sped by him, making an illegal pass on the RIGHT, for Pete's sake! The car pulled out in front of him, horn blaring, and squealed to an abrupt stop as the light changed.

 _For the luvva…!_ Joe mashed down on the brake pedal, and barely managed to stop before he rear-ended the wayward car. He considered getting out and giving the driver a piece of his mind, but decided it probably wasn't worth it – and besides, whoever was driving seemed to be possessed of a considerable amount of road rage!

 _The light's sure taking its own sweet time, changing…._ Joe tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he waited. Finally, the light switched to green, and the line of cars started forward. Joe accelerated, his hands relaxed and loose on the steering wheel – and then he suddenly gasped, and clenched it tightly. For the driver in the car ahead of him suddenly stuck a gun out of his window, aimed it back towards Joe – and FIRED!


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 24

Joe didn't even have time to think. Everything was sheer reaction – and luckily, Joe Hardy's reaction time was swift. He saw the gun, he saw the hand holding it jerk slightly, and he was already steering the Aztek _hard_ to the right, toward the edge of the road. He felt the tires skid slightly in the gravel at the edge of the pavement, and heard something _plink_ and _bang_ against the back fender of his SRV – a little too near his gas tank to make him very happy!

 _Oh Lordy, if a bullet hits the gas tank, I'll be nothing but vapor!_

But he had no further time for thought, for the Aztek bumped down sharply into the ditch alongside the highway, and came to an abrupt, shuddering halt. Joe was flung hard against his seatbelt, and felt the belt tighten with unyielding force, cutting into his body – just as the airbag deployed, almost directly in his face!

 _Turn off the engine…turn it off…._ "Oohhhhh…" Joe groaned softly and moved to obey the strident voice screaming at him from inside his head. He reached under the airbag and fumbled for the key; finding it, he managed to kill the motor, then sagged limply against the airbag for another moment, winded and slightly out of it _._

 _Come on, Joe…take stock. What hurts?_ Well, at the moment, everything did – but really, he didn't think anything was broken. _It hurts to breathe – maybe a rib broken? Does it hurt that much?_ He tried for another breath, shallower this time, and decided that his ribs were probably still intact. Bruised, maybe, but not broken. Carefully, Joe shifted his legs, and then tried moving his arms, and was relieved to find that everything worked okay, without too much pain. He'd managed not to hit his face on anything, he noted with relief, thinking of Megan's broken nose and cut lips. _Poor Red….OUCH!_ Gingerly, he felt his shoulder and chest, where the seatbelt had cut in. _That's the worst, right there…going to have a welt there, that's for sure!_

As he sat there doing a mental inventory of his injuries, Joe could faintly hear horns blowing, cars passing, and…people talking? A knocking against the window? He suddenly realized that he _had_ been in traffic, and most certainly someone would have stopped, and perhaps called for rescue vehicles to come to the accident scene. He lifted his head from where it rested on the airbag, and looked out the side window – and was startled to see several people standing beside the car, staring in at him! They seemed to be trying to get his door open – _why are they having trouble with it?_ _Oh…door locks…._

He shook his head a little, noticing that he had a slight headache and wondering why. _I didn't hit my head, did I?_ No, he was quite sure he hadn't hit his head. Maybe his neck? Whiplash? _This is too close to Megan's accident to be funny!_ he thought ruefully, and cautiously swiveled his head back and forth, ignoring the people standing outside the Aztek. His neck seemed okay; the muscles were just tight and stiff. _Whew!_ Joe was lucky, and he knew it! Again, someone knocked on the window. Realizing that the people OUTSIDE the car probably wanted INSIDE, he reached for the button that unlocked all the doors.

One of the men standing outside the car pulled the door open as soon as he heard the click of the lock release. "Are you okay?" he asked anxiously, peering in at Joe.

"I think so," Joe responded vaguely. He blinked at the man, who appeared to be in his 30s, with brown hair and an extremely worried expression in his blue eyes.

"I was in the next lane over," the fellow continued, "I saw the gun! You're lucky to be alive, you know?"

"Yeah – I know." Joe summoned a grin, albeit a rather shaky one.

"I called 911; do you think you can get out, or do you want to wait for the paramedics?" The man cocked his head, listening to approaching sirens. "Should be here in just a minute."

"I'm fine, I think. I can get out." Joe shoved the airbag out of the way and unfastened the seatbelt with a sigh of relief. He slid out from under the airbag and turned in the seat, seeking solid ground for his feet. To his surprise, he found his knees were shaking.

"My name's Ellis – Ellis Perry," the man introduced himself. He put a steadying hand on Joe's elbow, as the younger Hardy stood up and wavered a little.

"I'm Joe Hardy," Joe replied. He leaned against the Aztek's warm frame, thankful for the support. "Thanks for stopping." He looked around at the others who had come to his aid, who were now returning to their cars, since Joe seemed to be functioning okay. "Thanks," he repeated a little louder, to them, and received a few waves in return.

"No biggie," Ellis Perry smiled a little. "Anything to help. Say—" he continued, as Joe staggered slightly again, "maybe you'd better sit down again – before you fall down."

"No." Joe braced a hand against the car once more. "I'm okay. Just shaken up…a little winded, maybe." Cautiously, he lifted his shirt to inspect the damage the seatbelt had inflicted; as he had expected, a red welt was already rising, running diagonally across his chest.

Ellis Perry winced when he saw it. "Ouch – that's got to hurt!" he exclaimed.

Joe let the shirt drop and shrugged slightly. "I'll live."

The sirens' strident whoops announced the arrival of the rescue squads, and an unmarked police car. Somehow, Joe wasn't surprised when he saw a familiar face and form emerge from that car.

"I didn't think detectives answered car-crash calls, Con," he tried to joke as Riley and the medics converged on him. "Aren't you out of your bailiwick?"

Con tried to glare, but failed miserably; concern was etched all over his face. "When I heard that an Aztek had been involved in a vehicle accident, I had a sneaking hunch it might be you. Are you all right?"

"Yeah—" Joe sighed. "I'm fine." He waved the EMTs away impatiently, anxious to tell Riley what had occurred. "I came out better than the car did. Con, somebody shot at me! Some joker pulled in front of me, then stuck a pistol out the window and fired! I headed for the ditch—" He stopped, recalling that telltale _pinging_ noise from the rear of the car. "Something hit the back left fender." He pushed himself away from the support of the Aztek's hood, and went to inspect the damage. He frowned, seeing slight pock-marks and thwacks in the paint, rather than the holes he'd expected. "That's weird! Did somebody use scattershot?"

Con looked closely at the marks on the fender, then bent down and carefully searched the ground, widening his search as he approached the pavement. After a minute or so, he picked something up and straightened, grinning. "Nope," he said. "Not scattershot. BBs."

"Huh?" Joe stared at the police detective, dumbfounded. "What do you mean, BBs?" he demanded.

"Look." Con held out his hand, showing the little round pellet he held. He dropped it into Joe's hand. "BB. As in BB-gun. Joe, you got shot at with a BB-gun. I'm not surprised you were fooled, though. They make those things now so they look exactly like a real pistol, even close up! Same weight and everything."

Joe gazed down at the BB in his palm, feeling both foolish and relieved.

"Can you tell me anything else?" Con asked. "Make of the car? Person driving it – and shooting at you?"

"Um – black car, I think. Maybe a Toyota."

Ellis Perry had been listening silently to all of this, and now he spoke up. "No, it was a Hyundai Sonata. Dark blue, not black. The guy inside it was wearing a baseball cap of some kind – also dark. But I didn't see his face – just the gun!"

"Any numbers from the plate?" Con asked, jotting notes.

"No," Joe shook his head. "I was too busy dodging."

"It never occurred to me to look until it was too late," Perry confessed. "It all happened really fast. After Joe here hit the ditch, I was more concerned over him than the other guy. He must have been nuts to do something like that with witnesses all around though!"

"But even witnesses don't help much in some cases," Con pointed out gently. "I don't have much to go on, here." He snapped his notebook closed. "Joe, sit down in the back seat and let the medics check you over," he advised. "I'll radio for a tow truck to get you out of here. Your car's probably drivable, once it's out of the ditch."

Joe, with a quick word of thanks to the departing Ellis Perry, sighed and obeyed. He hated to admit it, but it was a relief to sit down again; all the adrenaline rush of anger had ebbed. Now he was feeling more discomfort, and he discovered he must have been smacked harder than he realized by the air bag; he was sporting a bruise on his left cheek that hadn't been there before.

He patiently endured the medics' examination, conceding that yes, the seat belt had raised quite a welt, yes, he was bruised, but part of that was from football practice, not the accident; no, he didn't need to be taken to the hospital for x-rays, and yes, if he started feeling worse, he'd see a doctor. At last the medics gave him an 'all-clear,' and left, followed by Con Riley, who assured Joe that he'd be in touch if anything turned up on his assailant.

The tow truck arrived, and pulled the Aztek back onto the road; the mechanic with the truck helped Joe stow the now-deflated airbag out of the way, advising him that he'd need to see the dealer, to have it fixed properly. Thankful that Fenton insisted on a Triple-A Plus membership, Joe displayed his card, signed for the tow, and at last climbed back into his Aztek, sighing and shaking his head.

 _This just hasn't been my day!_

#####

Frank whistled softly to himself as he finished up his one-handed polish job on April's plane. He hadn't needed to polish her plane, he knew – it was really Jason's or Joe's task, not his, and if April was feeling persnickety about it, she could always do it herself! Since the newness hadn't yet worn off for her, she just might, too! But time was hanging heavy on his hands at the moment.

He turned, intending to step away from the craft, and inadvertently banged his left arm against a wing. _Ouch!_ Frank grimaced as pain shot through his arm. _Damned cast!_ He wished he could just tear the dratted thing off right then and there, and be done with it. Of course, it wasn't the _cast_ that hurt, really, or even the broken bones, any more – it was his upper arm, where the muscles had been damaged. This whole process of trying to heal, since he'd been hurt, had been very painful. Having had at least one broken bone before in his life, Frank knew for a certainty that _this_ time around, it had been much worse! There had been nights, since the rockslide, that he'd fervently wished he could just saw his arm off at the shoulder, it had hurt so much! Luckily, those nights seemed to be in the past….

Because he _was_ getting better; he knew that. For one, because his doctor had said so. For another, it really didn't hurt all that much any more, most of the time. The bones in his arm had mended cleanly, and the injured muscles were slowly healing too. And everyone – the doctors in Reno, and the ones here in Bayport – said he could get full use of it back, if he was tenacious enough. _Well, I am tenacious enough – and I will be! I'll get back to 100%…eventually._

Frank patted April's plane. He really wanted to fly again. He was a _pilot_ , after all, not a paper-pusher, and not a custodian! He didn't want to keep on doing paperwork in the office, even though he knew he was good at it. And most especially, he wanted to NOT polish planes, and NOT dust – for the thousandth time! _I hope I never, ever have to dust anything again, in my whole life,_ he vowed. _If there's any justice in the world, I'll never dust again._ As he mentally repeated his words, a line from an old movie rose in his brain, and he laughingly revised it, misquoting Scarlett O'Hara: _"As God is my witness, I'll never dust anything ever again…"_

Fortunately for dusting – or anything else – he was nearly done for the day at Wayne's World. He'd gotten all of the flight logs inputted into the computer – he'd discovered, through trial-and-error, that if he set the keyboard in his lap, he could manage some left-handed typing. After all, his _fingers_ still worked fine! Even working one-handed, he could do it fairly fast, if he put his mind to it. He'd updated all of the accounting files from the check stubs that Jack had provided. And now, he'd even polished April's plane, just out of the kindness of his heart! Frank went into the office and sat down in his chair behind the desk, to log his hours into the computer for Jack. _And I can always study…._

###

"Hey, Frankenstein!"

Frank raised his head, smiling. He knew that voice – and that nickname. He swiveled the chair to face the doorway, and saw Dani Tanner standing on the threshold…and he wasn't even remotely surprised to see Jack Wayne standing close beside her! _Jack looks almighty proud of himself, being with Dani – well, who can blame him, she's a dish, after all!_ Frank's smile widened to a grin. _And Dani – she looks pretty happy, herself. In fact, Ms. Tanner, you look pleased as punch with yourself! Ah, young love…._

"Hiya, Dani – Jack." Still grinning, Frank lazily swiveled his chair back and forth, then completely around.

"What's this, do I pay you to rotate chairs now?" Jack cracked.

"I've already done all the work around here," Frank informed him loftily, continuing to swing the chair in half-circles. He enumerated his tasks for his boss: "I've done the flight log input, I've entered all the checks and deposits, all the inventorying is updated, I've put the timesheets for Joe and Jason and me in, and—" he paused for emphasis, "I've polished April's plane."

Jack rubbed a hand across his mouth, trying to hide a smile. "Is that all?" he asked, attempting to sound severe.

"Isn't it enough? Joe should be here any time now, to finish loading your plane for tonight. You do remember that you have a flight this evening, don't you?" Frank exaggerated the patience in his voice.

"Yes, I remember." Jack nodded. "But it's just a short hop, and there's hardly anything to load; I'll do it myself. Anyway, that's why Dani's here – she wants to go with me for this run."

"Brave woman." Frank exchanged grins with Dani.

"I've never had a personal pilot before," Dani said, perching on the corner of the desk. "In fact, I've never been up in a small plane before! It sounds like fun!"

"You'll like it," Frank assured her. "There's nothing quite like it."

"I hope so….And I had an idea," she continued. "While we're up there, we're going to fly over the school campus – just to see what we can see from a birds-eye view. Something that isn't noticeable from the ground."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a good idea," he said approvingly. "So far there hasn't seemed to be any other pattern – maybe you'll see some sort of physical one."

"We'll both look for a pattern," Jack interposed. "After all, two sets of eyes are better than one."

Dani frowned a little. "I hope one set of eyes is concentrating on flying the plane," she objected.

"Hey, any good pilot can fly with one set of eyes on the instruments, the view, and investigating an arson!" Jack assured her.

"In that case," Frank said dryly, "maybe I should be doing the flight instead of you!" Jack laughed, and playfully pretended to smack the elder Hardy on the back of the head. "On that note, however," Frank continued, rising to his feet, "I have a girlfriend to rescue from school and go car-shopping with. I assume Joe will be here any second for his shift; there's stuff to go in April's plane, if you don't need him for yours….In fact—"

Frank checked his watch again, and frowned. _Joe should have been here before now. I suppose something could have delayed him, made him run late, but…what? He was going to see President Mitchell…._ Frank relaxed. Maybe Joe was still with Mitchell, and for some reason was being held up – and he was too polite to tell Mitchell he had to leave? _Oh, come on, Joe can tell anyone anything! Too shy? Even with the college president? Not a chance!_

"Well, I'm sure he'll be here. See you guys later – have a nice flight." Frank walked out of the building, still frowning slightly as he headed for his own car. He had just tossed his bag into the passenger seat when he heard a familiar motor, and Joe pulled up beside him in the Aztek – a slightly more battered Aztek than Frank remembered from this morning. Joe's precious vehicle now had a dent on the passenger side fender, and what appeared to be pock marks and dings in the paint, on the back left fender.

Joe got out of the car, looking disgusted. "Hi," he muttered, and slammed the door.

"You're late – what happened? What happened to your car?" Frank demanded. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, sure, I'm just dandy – for a guy who just got pulled out of a ditch after someone used me for target practice!" Joe snarled.

"TARGET practice!" Frank was highly disturbed, now. He took another look at his brother, and noticed his left cheek was reddened and swollen. "Come on, come here. Sit down." Frank pulled open the back door of the Saturn and ushered Joe to the back seat, his hand firm on his brother's elbow. He didn't miss Joe's grimace of pain as he sank into the soft upholstery. "You're hurt…?"

"No, I'm fine – just a few bangs, that's all," Joe insisted. "The EMTs already checked me over. Now I'm just mad, damn it!" He slumped forward, resting his head on one hand, but careful not to touch his bruised cheek.

"Tell me what happened!" Frank repeated the request with urgency.

"It's a long story," Joe sighed. "I went to see President Mitchell at his house – oh, and by the way, I found out who else was in that cut-up picture," he interrupted himself to add. "It's Mitchell's sister, and his nephew – scrubby-looking little guy by the name of Kirk Moncrief. Sound familiar?"

Frank nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "That guy keeps popping up, doesn't he? So Kirk Moncrief is the president's nephew…interesting." _Wonder if Megan knows that her 'friend' Kirk is Mitchell's nephew?_ "Okay, so we know who was in the picture – anything else?"

"President Mitchell didn't really know much else," Joe conceded. "Or – if he knows anything else, he doesn't want to say what he knows. He still wants us to figure out who's framing him, although I don't believe anything is pointing to him after the art building fire, is there?"

"Not that I know of."

"Mitchell couldn't think of any particular beef that Students For Earth might have against him," Joe continued his narrative. "But he did mention that one project – the Adirondack one – and he said that it was found not to be any good, just like you said. But he said only one guy was upset about it being cancelled. It wasn't like the whole group was up in arms about it, or anything."

"Did he say who that one guy was?" Frank asked curiously.

"No." Joe shrugged in apology. "He said he thinks the arsonist must be a deranged student, or faculty member – but that he couldn't come up with any likely possibilities."

"Well, he's got the deranged part right, anyway," his brother agreed. "Now, go on – what does all this have to do with the wreck?"

"Well, I was coming from Mitchell's house – to come here – and some jerk pulled around me on the road, and then pulled a gun on me – and fired it!" Joe's voice went tight with fury. "I didn't even think about it, I drove off the road like nobody's business." He sighed. "Right into a ditch…a good thing, too."

"Did the car get hit?" Frank demanded. "And are you hurt anywhere other than that knock on the cheek?"

"That's from the airbag, I think," Joe mumbled. "I've got a whale of a seatbelt welt, but other than that, I'm fine. It just shook me up, basically. And yeah, the car got hit – in the back."

Frank walked around the Aztek to inspect the damage. "Those are the strangest bullet holes I've ever seen!" he commented, squatting down to look more closely at them.

Joe sighed. This was no fun at all. In fact, it was downright embarrassing. "They weren't bullets," he muttered sheepishly. "They were BBs."

Frank did a double-take – and tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter. "BBs?" he asked, when he could control his voice.

"Yeah." Joe nodded glumly. "Isn't that pathetic? But there you go – a ruined paint job, a dent, MY bruised ribs and cheek – all because of BBs! You know, Frank, sometimes I think the Aztek's cursed, I really do! I've only had it five months, and twice in three months it's been damaged!"

Frank returned to Joe's side and patted his shoulder consolingly, still chuckling a little. "The insurance company's going to love this one. Well, let's talk about it later, okay? I need to go rescue Megan, and you have a plane to load. April's, that is. Jack said he'll do his own; there's not much to it."

"Okay." Joe climbed out of the Saturn's back seat and shut the door. "I'll see you at home, then. Guess I'd better get to work."

Frank halted him with a gesture and gently tilted his brother's face to examine the swollen cheek once again. "You SURE you're okay?"

"Oh yeah, just peachy," Joe sighed, and headed across the tarmac to Wayne's World.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 25

Brown, nondescript, in good shape, fairly new – it was the kind of car that fit into middle-class suburbia anywhere in the U.S. The man who sat within it leaned back in comfort as he watched the house down the block and across the street. He was parked in front of 'his' house – the house his boss had rented for a period of six months, during which time the man was going to be keeping an eye on the comings and goings of a certain woman who had been seen in that certain house across the street.

The man acted as though he were fixing something on the car. That took incredible amounts of time, he knew. He could watch – and nobody would suspect a thing.

 _If it all works out, though, I won't need any six months,_ the man gloated to himself. He was smart, he knew – smart and crafty. And if he wanted to go far in the organization, he was going to have to take some chances. Even if the big boss didn't approve of them…there was more to this, after all, than family business….There was revenge. He _would_ have his revenge. And to add the cherry to the sundae, he would move higher in the organization while he did it! _There's nothing better than killing two birds with one stone,_ he mused, and chuckled grimly. Yes, he could prove his worth, all right! No question about that!

He smiled again, as he got out of the car and popped the hood, to resume tinkering with the motor again….

#####

"Oh my gosh, this is just great!" Dani Tanner leaned to the side in her copilot's chair, and peered through the window, down at the ground a few thousand feet below her. "It's just unbelievable, Jack!" A huge smile suffused her lovely face.

"You're not nervous?" he inquired, holding the craft steady as the breeze buffeted them slightly. "You said you'd never been up in a little plane before…."

"I have absolutely no reason to be nervous," she declared. "After all, aren't I with the best pilot in Bayport? Or so you assured me—"

"Definitely with the best pilot in Bayport," he agreed, laughing. Still, he'd keep an eye on her. He was determined that nothing was going to spoil this outing, and that included both fright and airsickness!

 _Dani girl, you have got to be the luckiest woman in the world right now – and about time, too! After all these years, your luck's finally turning. You're sitting next to an incredibly handsome guy – the most interesting man you've met in a long time – and he's not a co-worker, he's not married, and he's interested in YOU!_ Dani settled back into her seat with a sigh of contentment. _Yup – you have totally lucked out, Tanner. And to top it all off, he owns his own business and flies planes….AND he doesn't seem to mind your wacko work hours! And…he seems to like you. Really._

Those wacko work hours would begin again the next day, when she'd be on duty for 48 hours. But it was nice, because then she would be off for another 48. Sometimes it worked out like that – nice. On the other hand, sometimes she ended up working 24, then being off 24, and then working another 24, so that all she wanted to do was SLEEP! She was used to it by now, firefighter that she was, but…. _I just hope Jack doesn't mind it too much…._

At the moment, Jack Wayne didn't mind anything at all. He was currently flying about as high as his plane, thrilled with the fact that for _once_ , he'd lucked out in finding the right girl! He'd watched his younger sister – gangly, shy April, of all people! – going out on dates with that lanky Todd guy who seemed so enamored with her. The Hardy brothers _always_ had their dates, and beauties they were, too. Jason Montgomery, the other cargo loader, was practically a social butterfly, in comparison with Jack. Everyone he knew – but himself – dated! He'd begun to think he had caught some strange kind of anti-dating disease, that made it impossible for him to be able to get close to anyone. _Then, out of the blue – Fenton calls with a golf invitation. One trip to the golf course, one attack by flying golf balls, and_ _whammo_ _! Cupid strikes!_

Jack chuckled to himself, thinking about Cupid attacking with golf balls instead of a little bow and arrow, then grinned, realizing he probably looked like an idiot – and also realizing he didn't _care_ if Dani saw him grinning like an idiot. After all, he was as happy as he'd been in a very long time. There was something to look forward to now. Something other than flight schedules, bills, repairs, supplies, more flights. Even if she had strange working hours – and he had to admit that _his_ schedule wasn't all that stable, either – he was positive they could work past it. He actually anticipated working past it. Oh, yes. Definitely.

"You're very quiet – cat got your tongue?" Dani asked him, tossing him a quick, teasing glance as she looked over the cockpit.

Jack was glad they kept the planes clean, and silently blessed Frank, or Joe, or Jason – whoever had dusted! It certainly wouldn't do for Dani to see a messy cockpit in a Wayne's World plane, after all! "Nope," he smiled, "Just thinking how much fun this is. And what a good time I'm having. And how I hope you – uh…" He broke off, blushing and unable to help it.

Dani smiled back at him. "I kind of feel the same way," she admitted. "What a good time I'm having, and how much fun this is. You know, I was just telling one of the boys, the other day – Frankenstein, I think it was – that I just wasn't meant to have a social life. That my profession and my weird work hours kept anyone from being interested in bothering with me." Suddenly, those dark eyes looked slightly apprehensive. "You sure you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"Absolutely," Jack said firmly. "Indubitably. Totally. And I couldn't be any happier to be doing it."

Dani's smile was a reward in itself. She looked out the window again. "You promised me the two-bit aerial tour of Bayport," she reminded her pilot.

Jack obliged, dropping a little altitude and banking the plane around so that they could circle over the city again. He oriented himself, and began to point out landmarks as he saw them; Dani leaned close to the windows and peered out, fascinated by what she was seeing.

"There's city hall…there's the Methodist church, see the steeple?….There's the new movie theater complex….There's Shore Road…. There, see that?" He pointed to one of the farms below them. "That's where Vanessa Bender lives, she and her mother. Her mom's a graphic artist – you know, she does that cartoon, the one about the dog. _Rex Rover_?"

"Really? I've seen that a couple of times. Some of the guys at the station really like it! I didn't know that Vanessa's mom did it. She's incredibly good, then." Dani was quiet a moment, then added, "I remember a fire there, a year or two ago."

"Yes, that was right after they moved to Bayport. Right after Joe met Vanessa, in fact," Jack said. He flew a little further, then pointed again. "That's the Mortons' farm. You know Chet? Friend of the Hardys."

"Fairly well, actually," Dani nodded. "He was in the same CPR refresher class that Frank and Joe took. I've always liked Chet. He's a good friend to Golden Boy and Frankenstein." Again she paused. "I felt so badly about his sister. I wish there had been something I could have done, to save her from that car bomb. I wasn't even on duty that day, though."

Jack nodded, sharing her remorse. "Nobody could help that day, Dani. There wasn't anything anyone could do. Joe nearly killed himself, trying."

###

Eventually, Jack had to stop gliding around over Bayport, and headed toward the New York end of Long Island. He would have loved to swoop over New York City and show it off for Dani, but that wouldn't have been allowed, and he didn't have to go that far anyway. He continued to point out interesting points of view on the way.

"It's always interesting to fly anywhere from Bayport," he noted, "you almost always end up over water after a bit – unless you fly straight inland, of course – especially if you fly south. But we're not going all that far today – just a little town near New York."

"It's always seemed strange to me that there are rural areas like Bayport, with farms and such, so close to a huge urban area like New York City," Dani commented wonderingly.

Jack smiled. "Bayport's always had its own special charm," he murmured. "And now it's even more charming!"

Dani blushed and hastily changed the subject. "Shouldn't we have done the flyover of the college campus before we left Bayport?" she asked. "Won't it be too dark when we get back?"

"No, this won't take all that long." Jack shook his head. "The guy who I'm chartered for would have just driven for it himself, but it's a major rush for some important job or other. Something about a server being down, and needing to be replaced."

###

They continued the trip in relative quiet. Dani was watching the landscape flowing beneath them, enraptured by the sight, and only occasionally made a soft comment about what she saw. Jack, although he was forced to pay attention to his instruments and the tasks at hand, managed to spend a considerable amount of time gazing at the beautiful girl in his co-pilot's seat, and again marveling at his good fortune.

Jack brought the plane down for a smooth landing at a small airstrip near Long Grove, and taxied to the hangars. Once stopped, he leaped from the plane and helped Dani to alight. They waited beside the plane, as the representative of the company Jack was flying for came out to get the precious cargo himself.

After exchanging greetings with the rep, Jack helped offload the boxes, and put them into the back of a large cargo van, while Dani watched with interest. He produced paperwork to be signed, accepted the cashier's check in payment, and shook hands with his satisfied customer.

"Ready to head back?" Jack asked, when the rep had driven off, well pleased.

"Yes!" Dani's eyes sparkled; she'd decided that this was one of the most fun things she'd done in a very long while. "We still have to do that flyover of the campus, after all."

The flight back to Bayport was just as swift and smooth as the first half of the journey, but this time, Jack initiated some conversation. Just watching Dani wasn't enough, now. He wanted to listen to her talk, too!

"What's it like, being a firefighter and being a woman?" he asked, at one point.

"What do you mean?" she twinkled. "It's hot and scary, and a lot of hard work at times, just like for a man."

"Well, I guess what I meant was, how do you get along on a squad that's mostly men? Do you get picked on for being female?" Jack wasn't quite sure just what he actually meant, and was afraid he'd blundered with these questions.

"I only get picked on occasionally, now – like when someone new comes on board. I've learned how to deal with them, and after they've learned their lessons, we get along juuuust fine," she drawled, with another twinkling look. "I don't put up with macho stuff from them, and they don't put up with the opposite from me."

"Oh…um…in that case, I guess I'll try to curb any tendencies toward machismo," Jack murmured, and they both laughed. Secretly, though, he was a tiny bit disappointed. He already felt protective towards this dark beauty – and was disillusioned to realize that she neither wanted nor needed any protectiveness on his part! She was entirely able to take care of herself. Heck, she probably could take care of herself _and_ him, if it came right down to brass tacks!

Dani leaned back in her seat, gazing out the window. _I might not mind a little machismo…occasionally…from_ _you_ _….It might be nice to be taken care of…._

"There's the campus," Jack pointed out, at last. "I'll drop down lower."

Dani pulled a camera from her bag. "I borrowed this from one of the guys at the station," she said. "It's got an extra-powerful zoom lens." She focused and shot, focused and shot, again and again, as Jack made several passes over the campus. "Wait a minute." She dropped the camera into her lap. "Do you have binoculars in here, Jack?"

"In that compartment there," Jack indicated the storage box, and Dani pulled them out, a long-range, high-powered set. "Want another pass?"

"Yes, please…. There's something moving on top of one of the buildings. That longish one…" She set the binoculars to her eyes and zeroed in on the figure on top of the building. She couldn't zoom in close enough to see the person really well, but she scanned the top of the building as best she could, before switching back to the camera. She shot several more pictures, then settled back. "Okay, got it." She reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone. "I'm going to call the station and have them relay a request to get someone up there to check," she muttered, and started dialing.

"Wait, wait!" Jack held up a hand to stop her. "Not in here; it messes with the instrument readings!" he cautioned. "But I can contact the airport tower and they can get you in touch with the fire department, if that will help."

"YES!" Dani was jittering with excitement, craning her neck to keep the occupied roof in view.

Jack obligingly called the tower, and in a few minutes, Dani was speaking with someone who promised to have the roof checked out immediately.

Jack banked the plane again, circling over the campus once more. "Do you think it was the arsonist?" he demanded, once Dani was free again.

Dani shrugged. "I have no idea. It could have been, or it could be a maintenance worker, or a janitor. Or something entirely unrelated. Why do people walk around on roofs, anyway? I hope someone can recognize the building from the top. I think it's the gymnasium, but I'm not positive. I'm not all that familiar with the campus. It's long enough, though…."

"About identifying the guy – I suppose Frank and Joe will sort it out, once they get the pictures from you."

"Yeah." Dani nodded. "Could you do one more circuit, Jack?" She leaned forward again, watching sharply as he granted the request. It was easy to spot the buildings which had been burnt so far – the stadium and athletic building…the administration building, located near the main entrance to the campus…the art building, to the right and up the street from the Admin building. The gymnasium – or what she _thought_ was the gym – was equidistant between the art building and the stadium.

"I wonder," she said aloud, "if the arsonist is doing this along some sort of path, rather than just randomly picking buildings?"

"I have no clue," Jack admitted. He chuckled ruefully. "I've never been very good at the detective game. The last time I tried it, I nearly got myself killed!"

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

He glanced over at her. "You really want to know? Or are you just being polite?" He frowned, seeing a pallor on her face he didn't care for. "Are you feeling okay?"

She gave him a light smack on the arm. "I really want to know; stop stalling!"

He shuddered eloquently. "Don't say things like 'stalling' to a pilot, Dani! It scares the daylights out of us!"

"All right, all right. Yes, I really want to know. But I'll admit, all this circling is starting to make me a little dizzy…or something….Why don't you head back to the airport; we've seen all we can see. And tell me about how you nearly got killed, being a detective!"

Jack obediently banked the plane again, and headed for the airfield. "Well," he began, "it all started when a pilot friend of mine got himself involved with some guys who wanted him to transport bricks of cocaine for them. He ended up being murdered – and I decided to do something to bring down the guys who killed him. So I went to Fenton for help…."

By the time they reached the runway nearest the air cargo hangars, Jack was finishing his abbreviated tale. "…so there I was, trying to recover from being hijacked to Toronto and Maced by the police after I landed there, and April and Joe were facing down a potential killer right here in the hangar!" He concentrated briefly on setting the plane down smoothly. Once they were on the ground, he taxied towards Wayne's World, still talking. "Joe fought with him, but he was pretty sick at the time, and was overpowered. It took April whacking the guy over the head with a wrench to bring him down."

Dani was staring at him open-mouthed. "You should be more careful…SHE should be more careful!" she exclaimed. "The Hardys seem to be rubbing off on you – and not in a good way!"

Jack laughed ruefully. "I think you're right. April was sure proud of herself, though."

They got out of the plane and Jack locked it, then walked to the hangar, meeting a subdued Joe as he emerged.

"Hi Jack – Dani," he greeted them tiredly. "I just finished loading the other plane for your flight tomorrow morning, Jack. Have a nice trip?"

"Yes – but now I want to know about the guy on the roof!" Dani said, distractedly.

Joe stared at her in bewilderment, and then turned to Jack, who was laughing heartily. "What the heck is she talking about?" Joe demanded grumpily. He ached all over, especially his chest, and at the moment, nothing struck him as very funny.

"We did some flyovers of the campus," Jack stopped laughing to tell him. "Dani saw somebody up on the roof of one of the buildings. She thought it was the gym. She called it in, to have it checked out, just in case it was our friendly neighborhood arsonist!"

"Oh!" Joe was suddenly not quite so grouchy and sore. This was exciting news! "Maybe I should tell Frank – we could go and check it out—"

"Whoa, whoa," Jack put a calming hand on his arm as Joe pulled out his cell phone. "The guy's long gone now. And if it was the arsonist, and you went there and the fire started…." He stared at Joe meaningfully. "It wouldn't be a very good place to be, now would it?"

Joe sighed and returned the phone to his pocket. "Guess you're right."

"Joe, I took a bunch of pictures of the campus, and that includes the guy on the roof," Dani told him, holding up the camera. "I'll go get them developed right away; the guy who owns this camera does his own developing, and I'll get them to you as soon as he gets them done—"

"Dani – Dani, wait, wait!" Joe chuckled at her enthusiasm. "If you let me have the camera for a little while, I can develop the film. We have a darkroom at home."

"Oh." She blinked, then laughed. "I'm a dunce, aren't I? Here, Golden Boy, take it." She handed him the camera. "But let me know as soon as you develop them won't you?"

"Sure," Joe nodded. "We're going to get this creep yet." He started to head for the parking lot, but Dani stopped him and turned him toward the light, to examine his discolored cheek.

"Put some ice on that, Joe – okay?" she suggested gently. "And get some rest tonight."

"I will – thanks, Dani." With a quick smile for each of them, Joe took his leave.

Jack cleared his throat meaningfully. "Since you don't have to rush off to get the film developed," he murmured to Dani, "what would you say to going somewhere for dinner?"

She regarded him smilingly. "Why…I'd probably say…lead the way!"


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann and Max2013, for reviewing.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 26

"So, what do you have?" Vanessa followed Joe down the stairs to the Hardys' basement, and to their cubbyhole of a darkroom. When Joe had called her and asked her to come over and 'help' develop pictures, she had laughed – Joe knew a whole lot more about developing camera film than she did – but she'd come, all the same. They hadn't had much time together today, and she was willing to take any decent excuse. At least he hadn't said he wanted to show her his etchings!

"Photographs that Jack and Dani took from the plane," Joe explained. "Photos of the campus. Including some of a guy on the roof of the gym. Well, maybe it was the gym. We'll know when we see the pictures."

"Do you think there will be something in the pictures that will help with the case?"

"I don't know, Babe – but I sure hope so! It would be nice to get a break. For one thing, if the guy Dani saw on top of the roof turns out to be anyone of importance, maybe we'll have this case wrapped up! If we don't find something out soon…" Joe paused, looking very sober. "He – and I use the term advisedly; it doesn't feel like a woman, but what do I know? – he might start killing at any time, and then the stakes will be a lot higher. And I'm not sure if President Mitchell is going to be able to hold out much longer before he gets suspended – or flat-out sacked! And I don't want that to happen. I want to get this solved."

Vanessa nodded. "It would be nice. My mom's started worrying about my going to school now." She snorted, shaking her head. "Like the school is going to all burn down around us while we're in class, or something!" They both chuckled at the image she created. "The guy's been smart enough to do the fires at night, so far. Except for the art building, they've all happened after evening classes are over."

"An arsonist with a conscience." Joe chuckled wryly. "I still think that group, Students For Earth, is involved somehow. Especially after what Dave Wahlstrom said today. Or one member, anyway. And I don't think I'm the only one who thinks so, either." He repeated what Dave had told him, about the 'weirdo' comments he had heard. "And that Kirk Moncrief guy, the one Megan knows – his name keeps surfacing for one reason or another. It's very suspicious, but we don't have a lick of proof! Even if he's the guy on top of the gym, that doesn't mean he's the guy responsible for setting the fires – not unless he's planted explosives, or set something for his next fire."

"I see what you mean," his girlfriend commented. "But Joe, I wonder if you're getting too close to something or other – just look at what happened to you today!"

"Maybe…." Joe sounded a little doubtful. "It could be, but then again, it could have been somebody with an unholy attack of road rage, I suppose – completely unrelated."

"How likely is that?" Vanessa demanded tartly. "You didn't do anything to the guy; he's the one who cut you off!" She smoothed the back of his hair, then hugged him very gently, trying not to hurt. "We're going to put a cold pack on that cheek bruise, as soon as you're done messing around with the developing, you know," she reminded him sternly. "And if there was any way to attach one across your chest, you'd be wearing one!"

"Yes, dear," Joe replied in his meekest voice – and then laughed and kissed her. He did appreciate her concern, after all.

He got out the developing fluid and trays that he needed to start developing the roll of film in Dani's borrowed camera. With Vanessa's help, he got everything set up, and then started to work. There were several good shots of the campus, he noted; nice ones that showed several different views of the torched building remains, as well as some overall views. And then came the ones of a rooftop – yes, definitely the gymnasium.

It took a while, Dani had been very enthusiastic about snapping photos; but Joe and Vanessa worked well together, and more quickly than Joe had hoped, they completed processing the roll. Joe hung the pictures to dry, and then he and Vanessa left the darkroom and went upstairs.

"Hey, bro – Van." Joe looked up to see Frank coming out of the kitchen, carrying a plate with a large sandwich on it.

"That looks good," Joe noted. He frowned. He couldn't recall having any dinner. Once he'd gotten home from work, his time had been filled with explaining what had happened to the car to his parents, watching while Fenton inspected the damage, calling the insurance agent….Somehow, dinner hadn't been included in all that. Joe suddenly realized he was starving! "Are there any more?"

"Nope, but there's always peanut butter," Frank replied, unhelpfully, and followed Joe and Vanessa back into the kitchen, where Joe started rummaging for sustenance. Frank seated himself at the kitchen table and began eating his sandwich. "What were you guys up to in the basement?"

"Developing film," Joe told him, spreading peanut butter with a lavish hand. "Dani took a bunch of pictures of the campus from Jack's plane, and gave me the film to develop. We're waiting for them to dry now. How was the car-shopping?" He raised a questioning eyebrow at Vanessa and gestured toward his sandwich. _Want one?_ She shook her head and sat down beside Frank.

"They didn't buy anything yet," Frank admitted, "But I'm pretty sure Megan's picked out the car she wants. I hope she'll get off that 'red' kick she picked up from Kirk Moncrief!" he muttered, almost inaudibly, then continued more loudly: "She just wants to make sure there's nothing she likes better, at a couple of other car dealerships around town. So we get to go again."

"Is she going to get something nice?" Vanessa asked.

Frank grinned. "I promised not to tell ahead of time," he said. "But she's getting more from her insurance than they'd thought she might, because apparently her air bag only partially deployed. That, and the offer President Mitchell made to help with replacing the car – well, she's got more leeway than she thought she did." He took a large bite of his sandwich, chewed briefly, then went on: "She went on home with her mom; Carolyn came with us. I think she likes the same car Megan does, so that's good. What sort of pictures did Dani get?"

"She got something very interesting," Joe reported through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly. "There was a guy on top of the gymnasium roof, and she took some shots of him. It might be nothing important – but then again, it just might be the arsonist!" He snapped his fingers. "Nuts, I meant to call her and see what she found out from the authorities. Even if we see the pictures, that might not tell us what we want to know."

"Maybe I'll give her a call—" Frank made a move as if to reach for the phone.

Joe grinned. "She's probably still out with Jack, and I'll tell you this, neither one of them would appreciate being interrupted. Right now, I'd bet they couldn't be pried apart with a crowbar!"

Frank chuckled. "Maybe not," he conceded, "but as long as they're both happy…." He returned to his belated dinner.

###

Finally the pictures were dry enough to spread out on the dining room table for examination. The three teens sorted them into categories: individual buildings, campus shots, the ones of the roof, with the figure on top.

"Well…she tried." Frank sighed as he realized that they couldn't get a good look at the person on the roof. It was a man, he was pretty sure of that, but otherwise…. All the photos were taken _down_ at him, and his face was shadowed in every one. "It looks like he's wearing a gray cap and outfit of some kind – almost like a uniform." By comparing photos, they could see the man was moving across the roof. In one, he was stooped over, but they were unable to discern what he might have been doing.

"Does it look like he's carrying something? Can you tell what?" Frank indicated the picture in question. Joe and Vanessa both looked, but although they agreed it appeared as if he was, they couldn't identify the object.

"It looks sort of roundish…a kind of lump," Joe offered. Frank gave him a jaundiced look; that much was pretty obvious! What if it was plastic explosive, or something?

"These aren't much help, are they?" Joe continued morosely. He had hoped for better things.

Both Vanessa and Frank shrugged. "Dani didn't guarantee results, you know," Vanessa reminded Joe gently. "And although they don't seem to help right now, maybe they will yet, in the future. And perhaps she has found out who this guy might be."

"I wonder if I should risk calling her yet?" Frank voiced his thought. "Then again, I'm sure she'll call when she knows something. She wouldn't forget something that vital, would she, even if she is out with Jack?" He rubbed at his left arm absently, thinking...pondering. "Tomorrow," he said then, "I really think we should go and check out Kirk Moncrief more thoroughly. He keeps popping up into this, more and more. And that Corin guy…Vanessa? Do you suppose you could find him and talk to him?"

She laughed ruefully. "You want me to track down a guy I saw once, at night, during a fire, whose last name I don't know, and who was highly insulted with Megan and me when he left us! Well sure, Frank, why not?! It ought to be a snap!"

"Okay, okay, I know it's a long shot," Frank admitted with a chuckle.

"I can but try," Vanessa asserted, although she rolled her eyes dubiously.

"If you find Corin – assuming you find him and he'll talk to you – see if you can get any kind of a better idea about who he saw," Frank instructed her. "It's too bad we don't have a picture of Moncrief to show him; he might recognize him right away."

"I wonder if President Mitchell would have let me borrow the one he had," Joe murmured, but shook his head, answering his own question in the negative. "Vanessa, Kirk Moncrief has messy brown hair and a scraggly goatee, and he's short and kinda pudgy," he offered.

"Frank, I'm not sure he saw a face," Vanessa countered doubtfully. "It seemed like more of a general backside description. And he said the guy had a sweatshirt hood pulled up. If we knew what the backpack looked like, we might have a better chance. Well, I'll try. I'll get on it right away. There can't be too many Corins in the student directory, after all. Maybe I'll luck out."

Vanessa kissed Joe goodnight warmly, reminded him to put ice on his face, then went out to her jeep and headed home.

#####

The doorbell ringing after ten o'clock at night wasn't a common occurrence – even in the Hardy household. However, both boys and their parents were still up, seated in the family room and discussing things of interest both familial and professional – in other words, Aunt Gertrude's latest phone call from Florida, Joe's opinion of the Bayport Community College's football team, and drivers who took out their aggressions on innocent motorists; and Fenton's frustrations with his investigation of Markham Glass.

"It's clean – totally and undisputedly clean. I didn't see any signs of fund fluctuation. I don't know where Michael Ranson gets his funny ideas, if he thought there was something going on there!"

Fenton had just uttered these words when the doorbell's chime intruded on the conversation. Frank reacted faster than anyone else, and hurried to the front door. He peered through the peephole and saw a man and a woman standing there – someone he didn't know. Cautiously, he opened the door.

"Yes?"

Mr. Hardy had followed his elder son into the entry hall, and looked over his shoulder. "Michael! Erica! Come in!" he boomed, and pulled the door wider. The couple stepped inside; as they did so, Joe and Laura appeared in the hall too.

"I don't believe you've met our sons," Fenton said. "Michael, Erica, these are our sons, Frank…and Joe. Boys, Mr. and Mrs. Ranson."

"How do you do," Frank shook hands with Michael Ranson, and Erica, who smiled at him charmingly. He was struck by her fragile loveliness and youth.

"Make it Michael and Erica, please," she requested, turning the smile on Joe. He grinned in appreciative response.

"We met your folks in Tahoe," Michael volunteered, "but we didn't get to meet you two – because of your accident, I believe." He grinned engagingly. "I think I saw your little redheaded friend once, though, Frank – from a distance. I'm glad to see you're doing okay now – the arm getting better?"

Frank smiled a little, and nodded. It seemed there were a lot of things about that trip to Lake Tahoe that he didn't know, or remember.

"I'm sorry to come here so late," Ranson apologized. "I was feeling restless, and edgy – and I hoped you were still up. If the lights hadn't been on, we would never have rang the bell, of course," he assured the Hardys.

"Well, we are up, so that's fine," Laura told him. "Come on into the family room and sit down. I'll get a snack." She turned and headed for the kitchen, leaving her husband and sons to conduct their guests to the family room.

Erica, however, followed Laura. "I'll come with you, Laura; let me help, please?"

The men seated themselves, and after removing his leather jacket, Michael almost immediately launched into the reason for his unease. "Fenton, I've been thinking about what happened on Sunday, and I've just about come to the decision to take Erica and get out of town, for her safety. I've found out what I came here to find out, thanks to you – that Markham Glass is on the up-and-up, and I'm going to go ahead and buy the company…."

He paused, looking torn. "But I don't want to leave you and Laura hanging, if those damn fool attackers were really after her, and not Erica. And I certainly never planned on anyone getting hurt over this – your dip into the ocean was definitely not on the agenda!"

"It was the bay, not the ocean," Fenton murmured, his eyes twinkling a little. Once he'd gotten over his mad about being dumped into Barmet Bay, he had gotten a slight kick out of reporting the incident to Michael over the telephone…and padding his bill somewhat!

"I'm hoping that if Erica and I leave Bayport, whoever attacked Erica and Laura will move on to greener pastures, and leave both of them alone!" Ranson finished up, without seeming to hear Fenton's dry comment.

"I don't know that it's going to be all that easy, Michael," Mr. Hardy commented thoughtfully. "That might be exactly what whoever is behind this wants: to cause a splintering effect and spook us into doing something stupid."

"Maybe they're not still in danger?" Ranson asked hopefully. "It's been four days now – since Sunday. Well, two since you were tossed into the bay, but…but nothing's happened to either Erica or Laura. Maybe they've given up – decided it's impossible?"

"I'm not so sure about any of it, to be quite honest," Fenton shook his head. "I don't think it's over. And if either of us, Michael, lets our guard down, the women could end up paying the price!"

Frank, who had been listening silently to the exchange, now offered a comment. "Dad, is there anything Joe and I can do to help?"

Fenton smiled at his elder son gratefully. "Just keep on doing what you've been doing, Frank, only if you can, try to be home a little more, or available to go places with your mother, if she needs to go out. I don't like her being home alone so much right now – and unfortunately, it's driving her nuts, having to stay at home!"

"She's not the only one," Michael Ranson muttered softly.

Fenton smiled at that. "I'm trying to stay home as much as possible, but it's difficult to draw an enemy out if everyone stays in the house all the time!" He looked keenly from Frank to Joe. "And you two boys keep a sharp eye out, too, please. The kidnappers may try to go for one of you, if they decide it's too difficult to get to your mother."

"We can take care of ourselves—" Joe asserted, while Frank added quickly, "But we'll keep our eyes open, Dad."

The arrival of Laura and Erica with hot chocolate and a platter of cookies halted the conversation, and after the refreshments had been distributed, an uneasy, strained silence came over the room. Laura, settling herself beside Fenton on the love seat, glanced around at the gloomy-appearing menfolk, and pointedly addressed a comment to Erica.

"So, have you been as cooped up as I have, Erica?"

Erica, with a teasing smile at her husband, replied. "Even more so. I haven't been out of Michael's sight more than little while since Sunday – and that little while wasn't very long! Michael's the overprotective type."

"And I'm going to stay that way until I know you're safe," Ranson grumbled in an undertone, but he smiled sheepishly at the same time.

"I know the feeling," Laura said clearly, and although she smiled, she gave a look to Fenton that informed him she would only put up with it for just so long…and no longer! "Fenton's a bit on the overprotective side himself."

"Overprotective, huh," Joe commented, _sotto voce_ , to Frank. "Sound familiar, bro? Maybe it's genetic…."

Frank gave him a dirty look – and reddened.

Michael Ranson gazed attentively at his lap, and brushed infinitesimal specks of lint from his trousers, careful not to say a word. He wasn't about to brave the combined wrath of Laura Hardy _and_ his wife!

Fenton raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if seeking inspiration from the heavens. Finally, he put an arm about Laura and hugged her close. "Honey, I promise, I'll try to make sure we find the guy responsible as soon as possible!" he pleaded.

Michael Ranson looked up at last, somewhat shamefaced. "Maybe we ought to stick around Bayport a while longer. Fenton's right; we may as well stay until we know what's going on. So I'll just have to keep on being overprotective…right?" He joggled Erica's arm, quite evidently hoping to win a smile or a laugh from her.

Erica sniffed at that. "There's a limit to that, you know," she murmured, but her words were accompanied by a gentle smile, and Michael relaxed.

After finishing their cocoa and cookies, the Ransons got up to leave. Laura and Fenton accompanied them outside to their car. Frank and Joe followed as far as the door, intending to stay inside…and then Joe caught sight of the Ransons' vehicle.

"Mr. Ranson? Is that your Mercedes convertible?" he breathed.

Ranson glanced from the car to Joe, and grinned boyishly. "Yes, it is. You like it?"

"Do I? Wow…can I take a closer look at it?" Joe asked, yearningly.

"Be my guest." Ranson waved him towards the car. Joe needed no second invitation; he headed for the driveway. Frank, grinning, watched his brother from the porch. _He's absolutely drooling over it…._

Fenton and Michael were quietly discussing plans to get together the following day, to go over the case and maybe do some checking around, as they walked down the driveway.

"We can settle it tomorrow; I'll call you," Ranson said decisively, reaching to open Erica's car door for her.

Fenton, who had been watching several cars driving down Elm Street past their home, suddenly yelled "GET DOWN!"

….And his voice was drowned out in multiple blasts of gunfire!


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 27

At his father's warning shout, Frank dropped to the porch floor, and a bullet smacked into the door just above where his head had been an instant before. Grimacing, for he had banged his shoulder against the doorjamb when he ducked, Frank crouched down into the smallest space he could manage, and shielded his head as best he could with his right arm, his face flat against the floor. His bad shoulder throbbed with pain, but he knew he'd better stay put until the gunfire was done! Two…three…four more shots rang out, after the first half-dozen, followed by the crash of glass and the whine of a ricochet or two – and then there came a squeal of tires, and the roaring noise of an accelerating car engine, as the attacker fled down the street.

Frank slowly raised his head, peeking around his arm. His heart thudded with apprehension at what he might see – and then he relaxed slightly. His father was crouched over his mother, sheltering her with his body. Michael Ranson was spread-eagled over Erica, protectively covering her. Neither man appeared to be hurt, nor did Laura or Erica. They were already starting to get up, Frank noted with relief,

Frank was not in the least surprised to see Fenton gripping his .357 in one hand, although normally he didn't wear it while sitting quietly at home. Evidently Mr. Hardy had been taking no chances with his wife's safety. What _did_ surprise Frank a little, however, was the fact that Michael Ranson, too, was holding a revolver in his right hand; holding it in a way which looked as if he was very comfortable with it in his grip. Frank couldn't see Ranson's face; the man was staring out into the street, but his whole aura was…menacing. He was muttering to himself, and Frank couldn't hold back a wry grin as he overheard some of the language Michael Ranson was using!

Cautiously, Frank climbed to his feet, pulling himself up by the doorknob. He looked around, abruptly aware that he hadn't seen _Joe_ – and then blew out a breath of relief when he saw his brother's blonde head slowly appear above the Ransons' Mercedes; apparently Joe had ducked behind the car when the bullets started flying.

Mr. Hardy was helping Laura to her feet now, holding her tightly, checking her over for injuries. Frank could hear his soft questions: "Are you all right? You're sure? Not even any scrapes? Thank God…."

Laura nodded, and murmured something Frank didn't quite catch, something that sounded like _"… just…Stateline…"_ which caused his dad to emit a sharp bark of laughter and hug her. Frank wondered what in the world she'd said. Had they been shot at in Stateline, or something? If so, he'd certainly never heard about it!

Then Fenton turned to the others. "Kids, are you both all right? Frank, did you hurt your arm more? Joe, you okay?"

"I'm fine," Frank assured his father, trying to ignore the throbbing in his arm. _You're fine, Hardy, stop being such a wimp._

"I'm okay," came from Joe, who was scowling and rubbing his chest, but seemed unhurt other than that. He walked over to Laura and Fenton, and put his arms about his mother, hugging her comfortingly – whether to comfort her or himself wasn't clear.

"Michael, what about you and Erica? Either of you hurt?"

Michael Ranson had helped Erica to her feet by now. The blonde girl was ashen-faced with fright, and clinging tightly to her husband; he kept one arm securely around her shoulders, and the other hand was still clenched on his revolver. He was looking around, scanning the area, still on the alert. "I'm fine…Erica, sweetheart, you're not hurt are you?"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head, but she didn't loosen her death-grip about his waist. Tears started running down her cheeks. "Michael, I'm s-s-scared…you c-could have been – we could have been…." She buried her face against his shoulder.

Frank looked around; there were neighbors emerging onto their porches and peering out their windows, and he could hear sirens wailing already, coming ever closer. Someone had been quick to call the police!

"That was…" Michael paused and swallowed, then continued, starting very quietly…but his voice escalated in both pitch and volume as he spoke. "That was insane. Totally insane. Shooting at a whole group of people, in front of a house? Are they nuts? Have they completely LOST IT?"

"It seems they're getting reckless, or desperate about something," Mr. Hardy said thoughtfully. "I wonder what their plan was? To shoot someone? Anyone, no matter who? Just to scare us? They could have hit any one of us, with that fusillade. It doesn't make any sense, either; it will just put us more on guard than before."

"This isn't going to end here," Michael growled. "I AM going to find these people who are trying to kill us. Nobody gets away with shooting at me or my wife! And believe me, they'll pay for this!"

Frank, who was watching his father, noted Fenton's look of surprise at the vehemence of Ranson's words. _Mr. Ranson looked…_ _tough_ _…before,_ Frank thought, _but now he looks…yeah, he looks_ _dangerous_ _! What happened to the nice, newlywed businessman?_

A patrol car, followed almost immediately by the fire department's medic unit, swept around the corner and braked to a stop in the middle of Elm Street. Uniformed officers got out of the car, and paramedics leaped from their truck, but Fenton waved the latter off.

"No injuries, everyone's fine," he assured them. He turned to the policemen. "But you're going to find bullets and shell casings everywhere." The medics radioed the status into their dispatcher and then departed, pleased that their services weren't needed, while the officers began the process of stringing yellow plastic tape about the crime scene.

Another car arrived, unmarked but somehow recognizable as official, and Con Riley stepped out. He was wearing jeans and a light jacket which covered a white tee-shirt, and battered, slip-on loafers on his feet. It was quite evident that Riley had been yanked out of his house for this emergency call. He swept the crime scene with a cursory glance, and sighed deeply as he neared the Hardys.

"Con," Fenton smiled as he shook hands with their friend, "I know you weren't on duty – are you planning on taking some time off soon, I hope?"

"I'll take time off when you and your family take an extended vacation on the other side of the globe," Riley said with hopeful resignation. "When did you say you were leaving?" He continued to look around, and took out his notebook. "Okay, what happened?"

"We just stepped outside to say goodbye to our guests—" Fenton started to explain, and Laura stepped away from him, going over to where Erica stood, still clinging desperately to Michael.

"Erica – honey, you and Michael come back into the house. Come along, now…."

"Come on, let's do what Laura says," Ranson urged his wife, turning her towards the porch and keeping his arm about her. Erica, shivering and still with tears sliding down her face, docilely obeyed. Laura shepherded them into the house.

Frank, who was still watching events unfold before him, noticed that Ranson had managed to pocket his gun in the last few minutes… _probably about the time the police arrived,_ the elder Hardy surmised. _I wonder if it's unlicensed, or something? Or if he just didn't want to explain carrying one._

"You okay?" Joe had deserted his post beside the Mercedes to walk over to his brother's side. "Did you hurt your arm again?" he queried, for the way Frank had been holding his arm hadn't missed his notice.

"It's fine, just the usual ache," Frank lied, still gritting his teeth slightly. _It's more than the 'usual' ache, but then, I slammed it into the doorjamb, after all! What did you expect, Hardy?_

"Well, be careful with it," Joe cautioned him, not quite convinced.

They stood together, watching the activities all over the yard and street, as investigative officers searched the area. They were coming up with quite a few shell casings, Frank noticed, and mentally tried to tally the number of shots he'd heard fired. "Did you count the shots, Joe?"

"Uh-uh," Joe shook his blonde head. "You?"

"Tried to – maybe ten or so. No more than that, although it seemed like we were in the middle of the gunfight at the O.K. Corral when it was going on!"

"We're lucky those guys were lousy shots – or were aiming to miss," Joe observed quietly. "We were all sitting ducks!"

Con Riley was kneeling beside the Ransons' Mercedes now, and examining a bullet hole in the passenger door – right above where Michael had sprawled on top of Erica! Further exploration found two holes in the front wall of the house, one in a window, and one in the front door – perilously close to where Frank had been. No, this hadn't been a poor attempt at a joke, these guys were evidently playing for keeps!

"Way too close," Joe mumbled in Frank's ear, and his brother nodded agreement.

"I've got your dad's report," Con said, remounting the porch steps to join Frank and Joe. "Did you boys see anything you could add to it?"

Both of them shook their heads. "I got a really good view of the side of the Ransons' Mercedes," Joe volunteered with a wry grin. "And an even better one of the driveway, after I threw myself on the ground!"

"I wasn't looking toward the street when the shooting started," Frank said, "and after that, I was too busy ducking and shielding my head."

"Well, let's go in and see if anyone else noticed anything." Con suggested, and they went inside, leaving the rest of the police officers still meticulously going over the crime scene.

The Ransons were seated on the couch, drinking more hot cocoa. Erica was still quiet and pale, but she had stopped crying now, and she was munching cookies; Frank thought she'd be okay after her fright wore off a little more. Michael had taken off his leather jacket, and was gloomily surveying it, smoothing the leather with a careful hand. Frank looked more closely at the article of clothing, and gasped aloud. There was a raw hole punched through the expensive fabric!

"Mr. Ranson – your coat – you were nearly hit!"

"I know," Ranson said tersely. "My car…my jacket. Almost scared Erica out of her wits. Damn it. Not going to forget this." It was fairly evident that Michael Ranson was holding his temper down by the method of keeping all his remarks very short. He was afraid if he said too much, he might explode!

Laura quickly performed introductions between the Ransons and Riley, and Con took out his notebook once more.

"What can you tell me?" he invited.

Laura and Erica had seen nothing at all, obviously. They had both been shoved to the ground and flattened there by their husbands.

Michael, however, had had the best view of the attack. "It was a dark car," he reported concisely, "Maybe black, or dark green. Or it might have been a dark brown. There were two people in it, one driving, and one shooting out the passenger window. It was too dark to see either one very clearly, just a general shape. The shooter was husky – or maybe he had several layers of clothes on." Michael stopped and thought, then shook his head. "That's all I remember. I'm sorry I didn't see more." Very softly, he growled, "I don't like getting shot at!"

"No one does," Riley replied. He closed his book and pocketed it. "Mr. Ranson, you can take your car, I've already had photos taken of it, but you'll need to come into the station tomorrow and sign a formal statement. Oh—" he noticed the jacket spread on Ranson's lap. "I'll have the photographer take a picture of that, too."

"Thank you." Ranson handed Riley his damaged coat. "I'll write a statement up before I go to bed, so I can keep it all straight, and I'll bring it in first thing in the morning."

###

Finally, things quieted down in the Hardy household. The policemen all left, saying there would be a detail left on guard overnight, and that they'd do more investigation the next day.

"I'll call you after I've done the shtick at the police station," Michael said to Mr. Hardy as he and Erica departed for their hotel. "We can discuss this in more detail – and decide where to go from here."

Fenton, Laura and Joe went upstairs to bed, but Frank stayed where he was a little longer. He knew he needed to get some sleep, for he had early classes the next day – but still he lingered, sitting by the window and staring out into the night. Watching for anyone who might be watching the house – other than the plainclothes cops sitting in their car across the street, guarding the crime scene.

Finally, Frank shrugged his good shoulder in resignation, got up, and went up to bed.

#####

"I'm not getting up!" Joe moaned the next morning. He lifted his head and stared malevolently at the radio alarm clock, and willed it to shut itself off and let him go back to sleep…to no avail. It still kept talking to him, the radio personalities continuing with their usual morning babble.

It had been after one when he went to bed the night before, and he was positive that Frank had stayed up even later. "I haven't had enough sleep yet!" he complained loudly, trying to drown out the penetrating voices. He wished he could justify skipping class…but he couldn't. Joe dropped his head back down, and yanked his pillow over it to muffle the noise.

"Joe, are you listening to me?" _That was odd, the radio personalities didn't ordinarily speak to him by name…._ "Joe!"

Joe pulled the pillow from his head and blinked, suddenly aware that the voice was both closer and more familiar than the ones coming from the radio. "Uh – Mom…" He stared sleepily at his mother, who was standing in the doorway with an exasperated expression on her face. He considered pulling the pillow over his head again, but Laura was already advancing into his room.

"Joe, for the third time, you have a phone call."

"Oh – phone? Who is it?" Joe tried to gather his wooly thoughts.

"Dani Tanner," Laura replied. "She said she wanted to talk to you or Frank right away – and Frank's already left for school. So, since you have to be awake to talk on the phone…you can just GET UP, JOE!" She turned around and marched from the room.

Joe sighed and reached out to pull the telephone from his bedside table. "H'lo? Dani?"

" _It was a_ _custodian_ _!"_ Dani's voice crackled over the connection, vehement with exasperation. Joe pulled the receiver away from his ear, wincing. _"That's who I saw on top of the gymnasium! He was up there retrieving stuff that ended up on the roof. Three footballs and a baseball. The footballs, some overzealous freshmen threw up there, when they were playing 'Who can kick the ball the farthest?' in the parking lot! They didn't have the sense to stop at just one, oh no!"_ she snapped. _"I have no idea where the baseball came from!"_

Joe wanted desperately to laugh, but was afraid Dani would bite his head off if he did. He had a sneaking suspicion he'd been in on one of those games in the parking lot. He grabbed a corner of his pillow and stuffed it into his mouth to stifle the chuckles bubbling up at her words – but then his amusement died, as he realized that another potential lead had just dried up! _All we have left now is the S.F.E. Kirk Moncrief. And maybe even Dave Wahlstrom – or some other member_. He hated to consider Dave as a suspect in this, though.

"It's a good thing it wasn't another attack on the school, Dani," he reminded her. "We're already in danger of having the school closed as it is! And it would be a shame to lose out on a semester of school. And," he added with a sigh, "although while they haven't suspended President Mitchell, or flat-out fired him, he's on borrowed time. And he's depending on Frank and me to help him."

" _Oh, I know,"_ Dani conceded, _"but I was hoping we'd found something concrete out! I really want to help you and Frankenstein nail this guy, Joe!"_

"I know."

" _Did you get the photos developed?"_ she asked then. _"I realize that the ones of the janitor on top of the gym aren't any help, but…"_

"We looked at them last night," Joe responded, yawning. "They were good, but I'm not sure they're going to be any help. Nothing leaped out at us and screamed 'I am your clue!'" He considered telling Dani that they'd had some other business that interrupted their work with the photos, but decided not to bother her by mentioning the gunfire attack.

" _Darn it,"_ Dani commented softly.

"I'm really starting to hate this case," Joe muttered…and then after a few seconds, he amended his words. "No, I really DO hate this case! It's insane. I hate running into brick walls."

Dani chuckled. _"You've got a hard enough head for it, Golden Boy….Okay, I'm at work for the next two days, so if you or Frank need me, call me at the station. I've got to go now."_

Joe forced himself to sit up, knowing he couldn't stay in bed any longer. "Thanks, Dani. Talk to you later." He disconnected, then reconnected and hit the speed dial for Vanessa. _It's time to break down a few brick walls….Corin What's-His-Name. Kirk Moncrief. The Students For Earth. Yup._

" _Hello?"_

Joe smiled happily as Vanessa's voice came over the line. "Hey, babe…."


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 28

Laura sat at her kitchen table, sipping a leisurely second cup of coffee and perusing the morning edition of the _Bayport Gazette_. She was pleased to note that their incident of the night before had happened late enough that it hadn't been included. And by tomorrow's edition – well, yesterday's news was usually pretty much ignored, thank heavens. She didn't like being plastered all over the front page of the _Gazette_. Or even in the Local section, for that matter! And there had already been _one_ article in the past week featuring her, after the kidnap attempt at the mall!

She glanced up and smiled, as she listened to Fenton chatting with the police officer who was currently guarding them inside the house. _And two more outside_ , she thought ruefully, _watching the crime scene – namely our whole front yard!_

 _Someone could have been killed last night,_ she realized again, feeling a sudden flutter of panic rise inside. _We could have_ _all_ _been killed, for that matter!_ She'd seen how close a bullet had come to Frank…to _FRANK!_ – her cherished firstborn, who had been innocently standing in their front doorway. The more she thought about that, the more upset Laura became. She always told herself that she was accustomed to the idea of Fenton and the boys being in danger, and indeed, she thought she _was_ accustomed to it. But this all-out, frontal attack on their very doorstep – no, she didn't like it at all, and it had frightened her a great deal. _But I won't say anything to Fenton or the boys,_ she vowed to herself.

 _But,_ her thoughts continued their turbulent path, _to shoot at all of us like that! We were so lucky that no one was killed – or even hurt._ She had not missed how close another bullet had come to Michael and Erica Ranson – more than one! For there was a bullet hole in the passenger door of Michael's car, as well as the one punched through his jacket front….

A sudden deluge of coffee on the table made Laura realize that her hand was clenched convulsively on her cup, and she was shaking so badly she'd spilled the hot beverage. Very carefully she set the cup down, and mopped up the mess with a paper napkin, trying to calm herself. _You weren't hurt, Laura. Frank wasn't hurt. Michael and Erica weren't hurt. Everything is all right._ But she was suddenly very grateful for the police presence around her house.

Fenton came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, then took a good look at his wife. He reached to put a hand on her arm, then changed his mind, moved over and put his arm around her instead.

"Laura, honey – you okay?" Fenton smiled encouragingly, and hugged her tightly; gently kissed her cheek.

"Yes." She managed to return his smile, not mentioning the spilled coffee. "I'm fine. A little spooked, maybe. But I'll not let that stop me. And I'm not going to sit around worrying, today. I'm going out to Andrea's. And we're going to do some shopping – together." She laughed a little. "Unless you want to start going hungry, Fenton, or eating out at every meal, I have to go buy some groceries!"

He chuckled. "Well, that's about as good a reason as any. But Laura—" he looked at her with his dark eyes full of love and concern, "I want you to take one of the police officers with you as a guard. Maybe he could drive you to Andrea's, and accompany you two on your shopping trip."

"But—"

"I'm sorry, honey – but since I still don't know who those men were after…" Fenton's gaze was pleading. "You'll do it for me – won't you?"

She nodded, not bothering to argue the point any more. She knew that he was entirely capable of forbidding her to leave, if he thought it was serious enough. _At least I'll be getting out for awhile. I hate not being able to go where I want, when I want._ "All right, darling. I guess I can put up with a few inconveniences to keep you happy." Inwardly, however, Laura was continuing, _For awhile, anyway, but there's only so much I'll put up with, for so long. I'm not going to stay in the house for the rest of my life, that's for sure!_

Unaware of her rebellious thoughts, Fenton nodded approvingly, satisfied that she wasn't going to be taking unnecessary chances. "It's actually a good thing that you're getting out of the house for awhile, love – especially going somewhere they might not expect." _But do they know about Andrea Bender? What kind of resources do these people have, anyway?_ "I'll go see if I can arrange it."

In a few minutes, Fenton returned. "All set. Ready to go?"

Laura nodded, folded the newspaper, rose to her feet and set her coffee cup on the counter next to the sink. "Yes."

Fenton escorted her outside and introduced her to one of the police officers who'd been working on searching the grounds for further evidence from last night's shooting. "Laura, this is Officer Jeremy Isaacs. He's going to drive you to Andrea's and then escort you two wherever you'd like to go."

She smiled at the young police officer, who was tall and reddish-sandy-haired and freckled, and almost painfully thin. "Good morning, Officer Isaacs. I feel like the President's wife, with a Secret Service escort!"

"Y-yes, ma'am, Mrs. Hardy," Isaacs stammered, drawing himself very straight. He glanced apprehensively at Fenton, as if to say _Am I doing this okay?_ He was obviously in awe of the famous detective and his own current posting. "Good morning, ma'am."

Laura was reminded of her earliest encounters with Fenton himself, as a rookie police officer in New York, and she had to restrain a laugh. She couldn't hide the twinkle in her blue eyes, however. "Jeremy – may I call you Jeremy? My name is Laura. Please, call me Laura."

"Yes, ma'am – Laura." Jeremy was still standing stiffly, but he managed to smile now. "I'm – honored – to be working this case, ma'am, and that Mr. Hardy asked me to drive you, Mrs. – uh…Laura."

 _Well, he may be a rookie, but he's certainly polite! And it seems he likes the family, so I can tolerate him,_ she thought, amused in spite of her irritation with the whole situation. _And I know Fenton wouldn't let me go with him if he didn't trust him, after all._ It was interesting to note that Jeremy Isaacs didn't look much older than Frank. Well, that made sense, if he'd gone to the police academy right from school. And he had that same, fresh-baby-faced look that Joe did. _Looks too young to be wearing that gun,_ she mused _. Well, so did Fenton!_ "Shall we go, then?"

After Isaacs and Laura had departed, Fenton went back into the house, intending to make some phone calls. He had barely seated himself at his desk in the den, however, when the telephone rang.

"Hardy residence."

" _Fenton? It's Michael Ranson."_

Fenton wasn't surprised to hear from Ranson; he had said he'd call. The thing that surprised him was the tense, jerky cadence of Michael's words and tone. Well, the man had probably just returned from giving his statement at the police station, and people were often tense after paying a visit to that place.

"Michael – how are you this morning?"

" _All right, I suppose,"_ Ranson said reluctantly. _"I just finished up giving the police my statement from last night."_

"And Erica?"

" _She's still asleep. Fenton, is there someplace we can meet and talk? I don't want to meet here at the hotel; I don't want to disturb Erica."_

"You're okay with leaving her alone?" Mr. Hardy ventured, surprised at Michael's sudden change in attitude about keeping Erica guarded at all times.

"I called – uh, Erica's got some cousins in New York City, and I called one of them. He's here now, and he'll stay with her while I'm gone. I can leave for a short time."

"All right." Fenton thought for a moment. "There's a nice little coffee place called 'Papa Joe's' – all right, Michael, stop laughing," he broke off to say, chuckling himself. "Our son's not named for it. They have the best coffee in town, for my money – and plenty of privacy, to boot."

" _Directions?"_

Fenton told him how to get there, and Michael assured him he'd find the place. _"I'll be there in half an hour."_ Ranson said, and hung up abruptly. Thoughtfully, Fenton replaced the receiver…and then opened a locked desk drawer and proceeded to load his .357.

###

Thirty minutes later, Fenton drove up to Papa Joe's, and saw Ranson's Mercedes convertible parked in front. He parked a few spaces away, and went into the little coffee shop, which was filled with enticing aromas. But the morning-rush crowd had long departed; it was peaceful and calm inside.

Michael was seated in a booth by the window. He was dressed casually this morning – the most casual clothes Fenton had yet seen him wear, chinos and a green polo shirt – but although he had 'dressed down,' for the occasion, Michael looked anything but relaxed. Instead, he looked downright edgy. He was staring out the window, and smoking a cigarette in short, jerky puffs. From the looks of the ashtray, it wasn't his first. Fenton wondered if Ranson was armed, this morning. If he was, it wasn't visible…perhaps in the pocket of his jacket, hanging off a hook next to the booth? Or maybe he used an ankle holster?

"Morning, Michael." Fenton slid into the seat opposite, and beckoned the waitress over. He ordered a cup of coffee and a muffin, and then leaned back and made himself comfortable as she departed. "How's Erica feeling this morning?"

"I think she'll be fine," Ranson replied. "Her cousin's watching over her. She was still in bed when I left; I thought it was best to let her sleep for awhile. She didn't get to sleep until about 4 this morning; she was too upset."

"I didn't realize she had relatives in this area," Mr. Hardy commented quietly. He was surprised that the Ransons weren't staying with Erica's family, if they were so near.

"We aren't really that close," Michael said uncomfortably. "We don't see them all that often. I probably wouldn't have even contacted them while we were here – except for what happened. I decided I needed some help." He grinned ruefully. "After all, I'm not a resident of Bayport, and I can't just call in police protection for her, like you can!"

The waitress brought Fenton's order, and refilled Ranson's cup. With an apologetic grimace, Ranson stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette.

"Sorry," he said, and handed the waitress the ashtray. "Take this away so I'll stop," he requested. "Erica's always on me to quit, but – when I get stressed…"

"It's hard," Fenton sympathized. "I smoked a pipe for a time, so I understand." He sipped at his coffee, then began buttering his muffin, hoping that his calm demeanor would relax the jittery Michael Ranson a bit.

"Fenton," Michael burst out abruptly, "I want to get these people, whoever they are, who tried to kill us last night! Kidnapping was bad enough, but now it's gotten worse – drive-by shootings, for God's sake!"

"So do I." Fenton gave Ranson a long, steady look, and resumed his task with the muffin.

Michael sighed, and appeared to be debating something with himself for a few moments. At last he leaned across the table and spoke again. "Look – I know I'm not the nicest guy in the world. I'm no angel, and I've been around." He sighed again. "I do have enemies. In my line of work you can't get ahead without making a few along the way. I know I have the reputation for playing hardball in the business world—"

"Yes?" Mr. Hardy replied quietly. He'd seen and recognized this ruthless quality in Ranson the first time they'd met. Not necessarily _bad_ , but….

"But I never thought I'd made anyone mad enough to go after Erica!" Ranson finished desperately. "Me, maybe – but not her!"

"Is that why you carry a concealed weapon?" Fenton asked, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. "Because of who might go after you?" He wondered if Ranson would answer his question.

"I'm licensed!" Michael said defensively. "I'm licensed to carry concealed! And if you can't see that I should, after what's happened…!"

"Take it easy," Fenton said soothingly. "I was just making sure." He returned to the former subject. "I've made more than a few enemies as well," he remarked. "It happens in my line of business too. And although I do realize that you're sure it's you and Erica these people are after, Michael, I would like to remind you that it just as easily could be Laura and myself." He smiled a little at Ranson's look of embarrassed contrition. "But whoever they're after, we need to stop them…right away." He frowned in thought. "Maybe we have a foe in common – someone we've both offended in some way?"

"How would we find out?" Ranson demanded. "Is there any way to do that? We can't just sit here and play 'Do you know..?' until we come up with someone that connects!"

The older man chuckled a little and shrugged. "I'd like to think there's a way we could, but it would be a pretty long shot. I sincerely doubt that I could remember every person I've ever offended, apprehended, locked up, or ruined in some way. After 20-odd years as an investigator, it would be a pretty daunting task."

Michael nodded gloomily. "My time line doesn't go as far back, but the list is extensive, all the same." He took a gulp of his coffee. "So – what do we do, then? Lock both our wives up until this all blows over? I don't know about your wife, Hardy, but I know Erica isn't going to put up with it!"

"I agree," Fenton smiled. "Laura already is getting cabin fever."

"So," Ranson persisted, "how do we get these guys out into the open? Set a trap? Try to get them to come after me, or you?"

Mr. Hardy didn't reply immediately. He sighed quietly and sipped at his coffee, thinking hard. Ranson waited with ill-concealed impatience, but managed to remain silent.

"We could set a trap," Fenton said at last. "But I doubt that setting one or the other of us up as bait would generate any results. There's only one thing I can think of that would work as bait. And I don't like it…at all." He regarded Michael steadily across the table. "Which wife do we put into danger?"


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann and Max2013.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 29

 _Stay awake, Hardy, just stay awake._ Frank stifled a yawn, and forced his heavy eyelids up, as he listened to the teacher continue his lecture on the French Revolution. Normally, Frank found history a riveting class, but today Professor Zulega was putting him right to sleep. He blinked again, feeling his head starting to droop forward.

He'd managed to stay awake during his eight o'clock – but now, last night's lack of sleep was catching up to him. It didn't matter why he was so tired, though, Frank knew; the end result was the same. _I need to get out of this class…I need to go back to bed…._

 _You're turning into a whiner, Frank,_ he told himself sternly, and resolutely opened his eyes and stared at the blackboard, where Professor Zulega was meticulously writing dates and events. Frank sighed, and shook his head. _Time to nip this in the bud,_ he thought, and began copying the information down.

When the teacher paused in his lecture for a moment, Frank leaned back and sighed, stifling another yawn. He turned his head to the right, and looked at Megan, who was industriously jotting something in her notebook, her head bent over her work. Frank smiled, feeling a little of his fatigue fade. _She looks so much better – she's looked better every day since the wreck._ That fact alone gave him a definite sense of relief, and he was happy for her sake. She had been so miserable, those first few days! So positive that if he'd seen her appearance, their relationship would be ruined…. Surreptitiously, so that Professor Zulega wouldn't notice, he moved his hand and touched hers, and although she didn't look towards him, he saw her smile.

Settling back in his chair, Frank resumed taking notes, and heaved another weary sigh. He was trying to resist looking at the clock, which, he was absolutely certain, had had its hands Super-Glued in place. He was trying not to fidget – trying to pay attention, just in case something from today's lecture showed up on the next exam. _Come on, Professor, at least talk about something exciting…wasn't there something exciting in the French Revolution?_

He couldn't resist another glance at Megan, though. He couldn't hold back the involuntary smile that he felt on his lips every time he looked at her. _Does she have any idea how happy she's made me – how happy I am that I found her a year ago?_

One year. The best year of his life, for sure. Despite everything they'd been through, all the things that had happened, having Megan in his life made up for it. All the terror and danger had merely drawn them closer together, and intermeshed their lives until Frank knew he wasn't really complete anymore, without Megan. _What would I do without her?_

Briefly, he thought about Callie Shaw. He'd thought he loved Callie – well, he _had_ loved her, really. They'd been very close for those several years, and once upon a time, he'd thought it was going to become a lifetime commitment. _But it was just a practice run for the real thing…._ He'd seen a little of Callie, over the summer – not much. She'd been in Bayport for the high school graduation ceremony, but had returned to Colorado shortly thereafter, and their e-mail correspondence was sporadic at best, although relatively cordial. _She's probably going to marry that Jonathan guy – just waiting for him to ask her…. hard to think of Callie as not being Callie_ _Shaw_ _any more…._

The ringing of the ending buzzer and the immediate bustle and clamor of the students rising and departing was a salvation in itself. He busied himself putting his book, pen and notebook one-handed into his backpack, and zipping it up. Finally he looked over at Megan, who was doing the same thing with her books, and smiled ruefully.

"You have a break now, don't you?" he nquired, slinging his backpack over his good shoulder. "Want to get a cup of coffee? If I don't get some, there's no way I'll make it through the rest of the day."

She nodded. "Sure. But why are you so tired today?"

"Tell you all about it when we're at the Snack Bar," Frank evaded. Together, they walked from the classroom, and made their way to the Student Center's popular Snack Bar. Frank secured a table, and Megan went to get them each a cup of coffee.

"Thank you, Baby." Frank took his cup, gratefully inhaling the tempting fragrance, and took a quick swallow, then several more gulps, relishing the scalding heat and flavor. _Come on, caffeine, do your stuff!_ Finally he set down the cup and reached across the table to take Megan's hand in his. He tugged her hand across the table, and smiled into her turquoise eyes as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "I needed this." He meant the coffee, partially, but also he needed _this_ , this close moment in time with her. He wanted to keep holding her hand, but since he couldn't do that and drink his coffee too, he reluctantly released her. They sat in warm, companionable silence for a minute or two, sipping.

Finally, Megan spoke. "Okay, tell me why it is that you're so exhausted this morning!" She chuckled. "I know for a fact it wasn't because you were out with me!"

"Well—" Frank found he was reluctant to break the spell of this happy interlude. "Last night we met the Ransons, the couple my parents met in Lake Tahoe. They came over late last night, to talk about the attack on my mom and Mrs. Ranson last Sunday. Oh, and what happened to my dad at Markham Glass, on Tuesday. He was checking that place out for Mr. Ranson, so they think it's connected somehow…. Anyway, this was the first time Joe and I had met them. They're a striking couple – he's big and dark and she's little and blonde. Quite a contrast!"

Megan considered that. "They're like your parents, then," she commented. "Your dad's big and dark, and your mom's petite and blonde."

"Well, that's true. Erica's not a whole lot older than we are, although he's probably at least thirty," Frank commented. "She seems really nice. Anyway, we went outside to say goodbye to them. Joe was in the driveway, drooling over Mr. Ranson's convertible – and all of a sudden, some nutcase drove by and started firing!"

"FIRING!" Megan gasped in shock.

"Yeah," Frank chuckled dryly, "You know – with guns. I was standing in the front door, and a bullet went into the door right over my head. Two others barely missed the Ransons."

"What?" her voice was a horrified squeak, and she instinctively grasped his hand, as if to reassure herself he was there, intact. "Everyone's okay, though?" she demanded, "no one was hurt?"

"Everyone's fine, the creeps missed," Frank assured her. He knew she was worried and upset, and squeezed her hand comfortingly. He was sorry he'd had to alarm her – but he also knew she wouldn't have let it rest, if he _hadn't_ told her! "But I'll tell you, Mr. Ranson was totally pissed. They put bullet holes in his Mercedes!"

She laughed shakily. "No wonder he was mad!"

"Oh, and you know what?" Frank added, "he carries a gun! Mr. Ranson does. I saw him pull it out. Can you believe that?"

"Well…yes, actually." Megan didn't seem as shocked by that as he'd thought she'd be. "Lots of people carry guns. Maybe he's an investigator too, like your dad – or was one. Or a former police officer. Or maybe he's in the FBI, or the CIA, or something. And lots of regular people have gun permits. He could be carrying that gun legally – just like your dad does," she said reasonably.

"Well, that's true," Frank admitted. "Dad never said exactly what profession Mr. Ranson is in, although I gathered he was in business, not law enforcement. But even if he is in business, it's perfectly possible that he could carry a gun anyway. It just took me by surprise, seeing him pull it out. And Baby, he definitely knew how to hold it and use it! He's not one of those guys who carries one just to make himself look cool, or something!"

Megan changed the subject, abandoning Michael Ranson and his gun with surprising suddenness. "Do you think the guy who ran Joe off the road has anything to do with the arsons?"

Frank shrugged. "It's possible. I suppose we need to see if we can get inside the Students For Earth and find out if any of them drive a dark blue car like the one Joe saw. Or carries a BB gun!"

"Realistically," Megan said, "I don't know if you'd ever get anyone to admit to that." She frowned thoughtfully. "Kirk drives a dark blue car, I think. You saw it yourself, didn't you, at my house?"

"You're right! Oh!" Frank looked up, his eyes going wide as he thought of something. "You said Corin told you the person running from the Art Building fire was wearing a backpack. Was he sure it was leather?"

Megan thought for a moment, then nodded. "That's what Corin said. Whether or not it's true….why?" she asked curiously.

"I just thought it kind of odd that a guy who's so into the environment would have a leather backpack," Frank told her.

"Just because someone's into the environment doesn't necessarily mean that they're vegetarians or vegans," she reminded him. "I'm all for the environment, and anti-pollution, and all that…but that's not stopping me from eating hamburgers, or wearing shoes!"

"True…but Kirk Moncrief – remember, Kirk was all up in arms about lab animal testing, so he's for animal rights," Frank defended his idea. He frowned, then chuckled a little. "Maybe he makes a distinction between lab animals and cows. Anyway, if we could find that backpack, it might be the single best clue we could get, for this case."

"Kirk….You really do think it's Kirk, don't you?" Megan looked very sad. "I hate to believe that of him. He's been nice to me - even if he is a little strange."

"I don't know exactly what I think," Frank told her. "But more and more, things keep pointing in his direction. I'm sorry, baby – I know he's a friend of yours."

"He's an acquaintance, not a friend," she corrected, but the sad light was still there in her eyes. "But I don't like having even acquaintances suspected of something like this."

Frank finished off his coffee, feeling slightly more awake and alive than he had in class. "Guess we'd better get going." He reached across the table to give Megan's hand another squeeze, and pulled her towards him for a quick kiss. He readjusted his sling with a sigh, noting with relief that his shoulder wasn't nearly as sore today as it had been, even after falling on it last night. _Good!_

"Are you going to go car-shopping with us again, later?" Megan inquired.

"I'd like to," Frank nodded, "but I'm working from three to six, so I'll probably have to find you while you're out."

"That will be fine; we can't go until Mom gets home anyway, and she works until five, so you won't miss much. And I have something important to do before then." Megan smiled happily.

"You do? What?"

Instead of answering, she raised a hand and shoved her hair away from her forehead, showing the Band-Aid. Frank grinned in recollection.

"Your stitches come out! I'd almost forgotten that was today. Can you get to the doctor's okay? How are you going to get there?"

"I'll be fine; Vanessa's going to take me. Oh, I'll be so glad to get another car; this depending on other people is making me nuts! Anyway, Van's free – Joe's got stuff to do with the football team, since they're playing their first game tomorrow afternoon."

"I'd forgotten that, too!" Frank admitted in chagrin. "He hasn't mentioned the game at all, the last day or so. I wonder if he wants anyone to go, actually; he's been so down on that darned team! Honey, I could probably get Jack to give me an hour or so off this afternoon, if you'd like me to go with you…it's not like I can really help with anything there, or fly—"

"Frank Hardy, stop putting down what you do at Wayne's World!" she scolded him. "Jack needs you there, and you need to go to work. And anyway, I'll be fine. It's just a minor thing anyway – in and out. We can get together later, I promise," Megan added with a light laugh. She gazed at him, her laughter softening into a more sober aspect. "I need to do this on my own, Frank – at least as much on my own as I can."

He smiled. "I understand."

About to get to his feet and give Megan a quick kiss goodbye, Frank halted, half-standing. He had spied a somehow-familiar face across the Student Center – someone who he'd never seen close up before, but whose description matched the one he carried in his mind. "Megan, who's that guy over there, do you know? Is that Kirk Moncrief?" he asked quietly.

Megan turned her head, then nodded. "Yes. That's him."

"I'm going to follow him!" Frank announced with quiet determination, and stood up all the way, preparing to do so. But Megan grasped his arm, halting the motion.

"Frank, that's not necessary. I have class with him this afternoon. I'll keep an eye on him for you. I can do that, and report back to you – if I see anything suspicious, that is. You just go on to your class, like you're supposed to."

"Baby, you sure? I know he's started making you nervous…"

"I'm sure." Megan shouldered her purple backpack. "I'm a big girl, remember?" she teased, flashing her dimple at her boyfriend.

Frank pulled her close, kissing her more thoroughly this time. As he released her to go to class, he said softly, "Megan, promise me. If Kirk Moncrief's really behind all this – he's not really stable. Promise me you'll be careful!"


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 30

Fenton looked across the table at Michael Ranson, and saw the younger man was eyeing him warily. He returned the look with one of equal caution. He knew how Michael felt – hell, he felt the same way! While he liked the idea of setting a trap and catching the villains who were harassing them, he totally _hated_ the notion of endangering either of the wives – and he was the one who'd thought of the plan, too!

The proposal to put Laura in danger – or from Ranson's point of view, to put Erica in jeopardy – that was definitely a hard pill to swallow. He knew both he and Michael were fiercely protective of their respective spouses, and neither one would look lightly on the prospect of any harm coming to them.

 _I wish I hadn't even thought of it,_ he thought, feeling a wash of anxiety in the pit of his stomach at the mere mention of putting Laura in harm's way. _No way! No! Won't do it….Damn. What choice do I have?_

"How do we know which wife they want?" Michael interrupted Fenton's brooding with an unsettling query. "What if we used Erica, for instance, and they really wanted Laura? So then…nothing happens. Or worse…they kill her!" His voice was tight with suppressed emotion. "What if this is something worse than we think, Mr. Hardy?"

Fenton swallowed. He desperately wished Michael hadn't thought of _that_ angle! _What if these shadowy people DO kill the wife they didn't want? Or worse yet, what if they got whichever one…and kill her immediately?_ So far, it seemed that they'd wanted to _kidnap_ either Laura or Erica, or both – but last night's episode with the guns had jacked things up a notch. He fidgeted with his coffee cup, and only when he nearly dumped it on the table, did he realize it was still half full. He pushed it away from him, regarding the man across the table glumly.

"I don't think they're going to kill anyone…yet," he said, sighing. "I'm still holding onto the idea that it's a kidnapping – for a reason."

"But it's such a risk—" Ranson began, his eyes full of fear.

"I know it's a huge risk," Fenton nodded heavily. "I'm not even remotely thrilled about the idea, Michael, don't get me wrong. It's just that I can't seem to think of anything better. We have to do SOMETHING, and this is the best plan. Unless you can come up with something better?"

"No." Michael shook his head gloomily.

"What I'd like to do," Fenton went on, "is make them focus on one or the other of us, instead of Laura and Erica. But I'm not sure how to make them change focus. They don't seem to be interested in me – I haven't caught even the slightest hint of a tail, and if they did want me…well, they've had several chances to try."

Ranson sighed. "Same here," he concurred. "And how do we know when to try, anyway? Someone had to have followed Laura or Erica to the mall. Someone had to know we were at your house…both times! So who are they following? Me? Erica? Are they watching your house?"

"I haven't seen anyone watching our house," Mr. Hardy said thoughtfully. "I can usually spot people doing something like that – and we live in a very nosy neighborhood," he added, with a wry chuckle. He retrieved his coffee cup and took another swallow, while he thought further, then continued speaking. "It's risky, but if we take some precautions, we should be able to work it out."

"Okay, let's hear it," Ranson encouraged, his blue eyes intent on Fenton's face.

"First, we work with the police, and have it publicized that we have suspects in custody for the kidnapping attempt at the mall – or for the shooting at our house. Then, you and I let our guard down – or rather, we SEEM to let it down. We go off and do something casual again – another golf game, perhaps, but at any rate, something where we can get back to the girls easily, so maybe golf would be out. Laura and Erica go out again; they go somewhere where they can be guarded without it looking too obvious. A department store, a movie theater, or maybe even the park. Stake out ten or twelve police officers in the area, as well as you and me and possibly my sons – and see if our bad guys take the bait. Then if they do, everyone moves in and the kidnappers are arrested."

Fenton waited patiently for Michael's reaction. He knew he'd like it – and hate it, too – because of Erica. Fenton hated it for the same reason – Laura – but it was a workable plan, and he knew _she'd_ agree to it, if only to get her freedom back!

Eventually Michael sighed in capitulation. "I'll talk to Erica about it," he conceded. A sudden thought made him brighten briefly. "I think Ethan should be in that staked-out crowd too; he's pretty fast."

"Ethan?" _Whoever Ethan is, he's 'pretty fast?'_ _I doubt if Michael means he's fast with women, or can run the hundred-yard dash in under ten seconds…._

"Erica's cousin from New York," Ranson explained. "Would we really go golfing again?" he asked then. "Or do something else?"

Fenton grinned teasingly. "What do you think?" he asked, making a definite effort to lighten the situation just a bit. "I suppose we could go for something a bit more…unusual."

Michael eyed him speculatively, then his mouth tightened in a wry smile. "Hardy, no matter WHAT our cover is, I'm not dressing up as a woman!" he announced firmly.

Fenton blinked. He hadn't even considered that. "Michael, it never would have occurred to me to ask such a dignified man as yourself to disguise himself as a woman," he vowed. He waited a beat longer, then continued: "Besides, you don't have the legs for it!"

Ranson, who had just taken a sip of his coffee, spluttered and nearly choked. When he finished coughing, he stared across the table challengingly. "How would you know? You've never seen my legs!"

"Nor do I care to," Mr. Hardy commented mildly. "No, but actually, I think you'd do well as a punk-rock teenager," he said, his dark eyes twinkling.

"This is not a funny business, Hardy," Michael retorted, grimly. "Besides, I haven't looked like a teenager since before I was a teenager!"

"Oh, we could get around that," the detective drawled, surveying his companion thoughtfully. "There are ways it could work. How about a nice, tasteful earring?"

For a moment, Michael Ranson stared at him, totally horrified – and then, reluctantly…he began to laugh.

#####

Laura had always enjoyed being with and talking to Andrea Bender, ever since Joe had become involved with Vanessa, shortly after the Benders' move to Bayport from Manhattan. Andrea was a woman with wit and intelligence, who wasn't afraid to speak her mind. And she had come to understand a lot about the Hardy family, and hadn't backed away. Andrea had become an invaluable friend to Laura – one she appreciated a great deal; more than any other friend she'd had as an adult. She had many acquaintances in Bayport, of course, after living there for nearly twenty years, but Andrea had to be one of the closest friends she'd made in a long time. There was just something about her that made life more interesting. Sometimes it was almost like having Linda back, Laura thought, smilingly.

"Andrea, thank you so much for agreeing to come out shopping with me!" Laura exclaimed now, as the two women pushed sizeable carts through the aisles of **Shoptown U.S.A**., the largest grocery outlet store in the Bayport area.

"No need for thanks," Andrea said, halting to put more items into her cart. "I feed the art staff half the time – breakfast and lunch and coffee breaks, some days. That's almost like feeding a large family. Or—" she paused, chuckling, "feeding two teenaged boys!"

Laura laughed too. "Two teenaged boys and their numerous friends," she amended. She selected more things to put in her cart. "As much as you feed Joe, I'm surprised you ever have any food in the house! He seems to eat enough to feed a small army, and you can never tell when Vanessa might invite him to stay for dinner."

"He's not that bad. And she's at your house a lot; it evens out," Andrea smiled.

"It feels so good to get out of the house!" Laura exulted, "And not to have Fenton constantly hovering over me, like an avenging angel!"

"That would be hard," Andrea admitted. She glanced casually behind them. "And today he sent in a surrogate angel."

Jeremy Isaacs was following along behind them at a sedate pace, carrying a small grocery basket, acting for all the world like he was completely by himself and concentrating on his shopping…and yet, looking suspiciously like he was _with_ the two women. Although the officer in charge of the case had agreed to let Jeremy dress in civilian clothing, despite his rookie status, there was still something about Jeremy that simply hinted 'policeman.' Laura knew there were some people who just had that look, no matter what. Jeremy's was pretty well hidden under his guileless, youthful red-hair-and-freckles appearance, but it was still there.

Laura and Andrea paused in the canned goods aisle and browsed, enjoying their casual conversation, enjoying their time together. They talked a little about the case, quietly.

"I've been thinking about the attack at the mall, last Sunday," Andrea commented, "and about the weird things that have happened since then." She looked searchingly at her friend. "Laura, are you sure you're okay? I know you weren't injured, but…are you really okay?"

"I am." Laura nodded firmly. "That drive-by shooting last night was terrifying, but since no one was hit, I'm able to cope with it. I'm surprised that Fenton agreed to let me go out shopping, though, after it happened. If I hadn't been going with you, and if he hadn't been able to wangle Officer Isaacs to come with us…well, I suspect I'd still be under my very own form of house arrest. Not any fun, that!"

"Not fun being kidnapped, either," Andrea reminded her dryly.

"That's true," Laura conceded. "I'm not interested in being kidnapped – EVER again!"

"So, isn't it worth a little house arrest, or protective custody, or whatever you want to call it, if that's what it takes to keep you safe?" Andrea persisted.

Laura sighed and shrugged. "I suppose so," she replied despondently, "but I'd rather just have the cretins caught and put away!"

###

They finished their shopping, checked out, loaded the car, and then proposed lunch at a nearby restaurant. They made a special point of inviting Jeremy to join them – as if he had a choice!

Although he seemed happy to be asked to lunch, Laura suspected that Officer Isaacs would have quietly accepted being ignored and going hungry while the ladies ate, had they chosen to deal with his presence that way. Jeremy was polite, obedient, conscientious of his charges' welfare – and terribly aware of anyone coming _near_ those charges!

Laura noticed that he always tensed up a little when some acquaintance of hers or Andrea's came up to them to say 'hi,' or stopped to talk for a minute or two. It was second nature for her to chat – after all, that was what was fun about shopping! You had the opportunity to see people you'd _known_ for a long time, but didn't necessarily _see_ all that often! _I certainly hope Jeremy doesn't plan on_ _shooting_ _someone, if he considers us threatened!_

While they were at lunch, Laura's cell phone rang.

"Laura, it's me," Fenton said from the other end of the connection.

"Hi, honey," she smiled, "how are you doing?"

"I'm still with Michael Ranson," he told her. "We're working on a plan to snare the guys who've been threatening you and Erica. Are you safe, Laura?"

"I'm perfectly safe," she said calmly. "I'm having lunch with Andrea and Jeremy; after we finish, we're going to go to Andrea's house. I'm going to help her with some bookwork this afternoon; her accountant's on vacation for another week."

"I'll need to see you at home sometime this afternoon. As I said, we're working on a plan to draw out these guys after Erica and you – and I want to keep you safe!"

Laura tensed slightly. "What sort of plan?"

"I think it would be better for us to talk about it in person," Fenton hedged, "but don't worry, honey – I'm NOT going to let anything happen to you!" He sighed sharply. "We've had enough troubles lately, without adding anything to it!"

"All right," she said slowly. "I'll talk to you about it later. Goodbye, honey." Thoughtfully, she replaced the cell phone in her purse, and turned to her lunch companions. "Just Fenton, checking in!" she said brightly.

When lunch was done, Jeremy escorted the ladies to the car, preparing to drive them to the farm where Andrea lived and had her cartoon animation business. Jeremy started to open the doors for them – and then stopped, and knelt down beside the car.

"Well, of all the bad luck!" Andrea gasped. For the tire beside them was completely flat.

"It's not just bad luck," Laura said in a choked voice, and indicated the other tire on that side of the car – also completely flat.

"Ladies, go back inside the restaurant and stay there," Jeremy Isaacs ordered them sternly. "Someone's slashed all the tires on the car."


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 31

 _Far be it from me to look down on my fellow man_ , Joe Hardy thought, as he followed Dave Wahlstrom through the science building to the basement, where the Students For Earth offices were located, _but I'm walking into Geek Central, here, I just know it! Great. Just great…I end up with the boring part of the case to investigate!_

 _Not that talking to Dave is boring_ , Joe reminded himself. The slim, spare young man who had gone to high school with Joe was actually a lot more interesting than the younger Hardy had ever given him credit for. It was as if getting out of high school had suddenly given the other boy some personality! Dave was a nice guy, to boot, taking interest in not only his own pursuits, but what was going on in _Joe's_ life as well – commenting on the rumors which had circulated around school, about his and Frank's accidents 'out West,' and asking if they were both okay now.

"I noticed the cast Frank was wearing, last Sunday," Dave said. "And I couldn't help seeing that he looked like he didn't feel all that good…."

"He's getting the cast off on Tuesday," Joe responded, "and it can't be too soon, as far as I'm concerned. Frank's making me nuts, he fusses with it so much! Of course, I can't really blame him for being anxious and impatient. Neither one of us likes to sit still for long, and this has been especially hard on him."

"How so?"

"He can't do very much – if it had just been a broken wrist, he would be able to do more, but with his arm in a cast past his elbow…well, he's not a happy camper," Joe concluded with a wry chuckle. "He's been awfully limited – he's found out that it takes two hands to do a lot of things. For instance, he works part-time as a pilot – he hasn't been able to do that, and he's unhappy about it."

"I agree, it doesn't sound like fun. I'd hate it!" Dave nodded. He flexed his own arm experimentally. "How could I run if I had a broken arm?" he asked rhetorically, "It would totally mess up my balance and my sense of rhythm! Not that I'm doing a whole lot of running, these days," he added dryly. "But I sure understand."

"That's part of the problem," Joe agreed, "but not all of it. Frank's also got muscle damage from a puncture wound in his upper arm, and that hurts him all the time, because until the cast comes off, he can't do physical therapy to loosen the muscles. Plus, the weight of the cast puts stress on the muscles, so they don't heal as fast." He grimaced. "Not a pretty sight."

Joe stopped speaking as they reached the bottom of the last staircase. The lower levels of Arbuthnot Science Hall were dungeon-like, in Joe's opinion. He'd been on the main levels before, but never down here in the subterranean depths. There were twists and turns down here – and much smaller rooms – which bespoke of the oldest portions of the campus. Obviously, the floors above had been rebuilt, remodeled, or added after this part. It felt musty down here, with a lingering whiff of that old-water smell that you either learned to ignore, or let bug you the whole time you were around it. Joe was attempting to ignore it, but wasn't sure of his success. He also wondered how often the place was checked for animal life….

It seemed a weird place for the S.F.E. to meet, Joe thought. Especially when he had thought that they had an office in the Student Center! He asked Dave about it.

"Oh yeah, that's where the main office is," Dave said. "That's where the officers for the S.F.E. meet, and that's where people can come to get information about the group. But that room isn't really big enough for a meeting of the whole membership. This place is, and we're getting ready for a meeting later this evening, so we're having to do the set-up here. Besides, think about it. This part of the building's old – it would go unused, if we didn't meet here. It would be wasteful not to use the space, and that's one of the things S.F.E.'s against: waste. Perfect, right?"

"Yeah," Joe said a trifle doubtfully, surveying his bleak surroundings. "I'll take your word for it."

At last they stepped into what had to be the largest room in the basement. Joe was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't quite as dank and forbidding as he had feared; although the walls were concrete, they were covered with colorful posters of rainforests, pictures of endangered animals, flowcharts – even pictures with types of pollution and other environmental hazards! It made for unusual decoration – but it was interesting, and fit their theme! And the lighting was at least adequate.

Two tables were located at the far end of the large room, cluttered with art supplies: poster board, scissors, tape, glue, felt-tip markers, stacks of paper, and two computers. Six people were working busily at the tables, and no one paid attention to the new arrivals until Dave Wahlstrom said "Hey," in general to the room. Then they all stopped working, and turned to stare at Joe, the stranger.

"This is Joe Hardy," Dave announced. "He's interested in the S.F.E., but he's not completely sold on it yet, so I told him I'd show him around today."

Dave's words elicited a few mumbled responses from the group members, but overall, they didn't seem all that thrilled to see the younger Hardy. One or two of them shuffled nervously, evidently somewhat uncomfortable at having him there, on what was essentially an inspection tour.

Joe instinctively felt that they didn't trust him – and he wondered why. Because they knew who he was? He assumed his friendliest, least-threatening expression, and waved casually at them, without asking for individual introductions, and let Dave show him around, trying to show his interest in what they were doing. He _was_ interested, of course – but not for any reason they would like!

Joe had been in the room for over five minutes before anyone besides Dave condescended to talk to him – a black mark in the Hardy boy's book, no matter what reason he might have been there for! _Any group who wants new members_ , he thought _, ought to be friendly to potentials!_

At last one of the young women spoke to him. "Hi, I'm Jacklyn. I'm glad to hear you're interested in our group. Do you really care about saving the environment?"

"Well – sure," Joe said uncertainly. He looked her over. A long single braid of dark hair was draped over one shoulder, and her blue eyes were half-concealed behind oval rimless glasses, but Jacklyn's smile was genuinely friendly, and Joe returned it.

"If you are, we're getting ready to hand out fliers and put up a display, at the football game that's coming up," she continued. "You could help with that."

 _The football game!_ Joe tried not to react to her words. _That's just what I need,_ he thought glumly. _The added distraction of a bunch of picketers at a game we're probably going to lose anyhow!_ "I – um – I'm afraid I'll be busy during the game," he muttered. "Sorry."

"Well, maybe another time," Jacklyn smiled. She picked up a piece of poster board from the table. "See, here are the fliers."

Joe looked at them. They were simple, printed up on regular copy paper, but with vivid, brightly-colored text in varying sizes, and a couple of pictures. The Students For Earth motto, **'To Serve The Environment as it Serves Us,'** was prominently displayed, and then a list of the group's meeting times and locations. _They're really not the most put-together group on the planet,_ Joe mused to himself. _But then again, maybe they're not trying to be!_

He smiled at Jacklyn, attempting to put some of that "old Hardy charm" into it. _If I can get this girl to trust me, maybe I can start getting some real information from her!_ He knew he didn't have a whole lot of time to waste; he had things to do with the football team, but he wanted to make this as easy as he could, so if the effort paid off….

"You didn't happen to have a hand in designing these, did you?" he asked, reinforcing the smile and tapping the paper, raising an inquiring brow.

"Yes, actually I did," Jacklyn smiled shyly, responding to both Joe's implied compliment and his inviting grin. "I designed the logo, and the graphics. That's what I'm majoring in – graphic design."

Joe nodded comprehension. He wondered if Vanessa might have classes with this girl, since they were in the same field. "I have a good friend in that major," he said, thinking even as he spoke that 'good friend' was hardly the way he'd choose to describe Van! "How long have you been going to Bayport Community?" he asked then.

"I just started this year; I graduated in June from Hillman Academy," she replied, naming one of the private schools in Bayport.

"That's why I didn't know you!" Joe grinned. "You didn't go to Bayport High!"

They continued to chat about school and other matters as Jacklyn counted fliers into neat stacks. Jacklyn, it turned out, did have Vanessa in some classes, but hadn't made her acquaintance yet, just noticed her – Vanessa was hard to overlook! She was amazed and delighted when Joe told her that his friend's mother was the creator of _Rex Rover_.

Joe finally managed to steer the conversation around to the campus fires – and found that Jacklyn was most dismayed and upset about them – especially the Art Building conflagration!

"I had a lot of classes there!" she lamented. "After all, you have to take art classes to major in graphic design. And," she continued, "I was in the building the night of the fire!"

"You were?" Joe was startled – and then, privately elated. At last, an eyewitness!

"Yes, one of my classes was being held then." Jacklyn's blue eyes were starting to look a little teary as she recalled the incident. "I wish I'd gone to Breymand College instead," she gulped, staring down at the table. "That's what my father wanted me to do."

"Why didn't you?" Joe asked gently.

"I wasn't quite ready to leave home yet," she admitted. "I wanted to keep living at home and commute for a year or two. And anyway, everything – the art classes, anyway – I take here will count towards a degree at Breymand; I checked before I enrolled here. But now – with the Art building damaged – this whole semester's classes may be wiped out!"

Joe blinked and nodded sympathetically. He didn't blame her for being upset. She'd done everything right. She'd been careful about the classes she picked, she hadn't wanted to leave home to attend school – and wham, she'd ended up in the middle of a very nasty situation not of her own making!

"Did you notice anything special, the night of the fire?" he asked. "How scary was it? Did people start to panic, or anything?"

"I didn't notice anything strange until the fire alarm went off," Jacklyn told him. "When we went out into the hall to evacuate the building, I could already smell smoke." She smiled a little. "And no, there wasn't any panic. The teachers had things under control. We all just marched out nicely. I was lucky; my class was on the first floor, so I was one of the first ones out."

"You didn't see anyone running out ahead of you?" Joe persisted. "Anyone who might have had something to do with setting the fire, for instance, or pulling the alarm?"

Jacklyn gave him an odd look, evidently curious as to where these questions were leading, then shrugged. "No," she said, "I just don't remember all that much about it. Sorry."

Joe let the subject drop, and turned his attention to more of the graphics Jacklyn pulled up on one of the computer screens. After a few minutes, however, Jacklyn turned away from her work on a new picture and looked at the Hardy boy again.

"You know," she said slowly, "I do remember something…I think. A boy was running away – he was already out of the building as I was exiting. I remember now, because he had a 'Recycle' sticker on the back of his backpack, and another one that I think was for **Save the Whales**. The reason I noticed it and thought it was weird was because it was a leather backpack. At least – I thought it looked like leather. But it might have been one of those faux suede ones. Anyway, he had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his hair – and it wasn't that cold out!"

Jacklyn paused a moment, considering her words carefully. She remained silent as she worked a little more on her picture – a dolphin leaping above water in a graceful arc – and then she frowned.

"I feel like I've seen that backpack before," she admitted. "Brown…with those logos. I just can't remember where."

Joe stayed quiet, watching her, wanting desperately for her to say what he wanted to hear – and not wanting to push her. He knew that no one could be _forced_ to remember something. It had to come naturally, or not at all. _I just hope it comes soon!_

As he waited, he idly watched Dave, who was talking with some of the other S.F.E. members in the room. They were poring over something on the other computer, one boy rapidly typing on the keyboard while two others leaned over his shoulders. They stopped occasionally to look at what they'd done, then returned to the screen, making changes or adding something new to the document they were working on.

Joe turned back to Jacklyn, who was still puzzling over the elusive memory as she worked on her dolphin picture. "Do you think it might be someone in the S.F.E. who has that backpack?" he nudged. "With those logos on it, isn't there a chance?"

She paused in her work and looked up at him. "Maybe," she admitted. "Maybe it is someone in Students For Earth. But – but I just assumed that whoever it was, had been in a class in the Art building, and just got out ahead of me. It never occurred to me that…I just never thought any of us would resort to those kinds of tactics. It would make our group no better than those terrorist groups out there!" Jacklyn looked extremely sad.

"I know," Joe soothed.

"But maybe….There are a couple of people in the S.F.E. who have wanted us to be more…more – active. But if one of them did this…."

"How much do you know about this group, anyway?" Joe asked. "After all, you just joined, right? You're new to the school, and most of the people—"

"No – I joined while I was still in high school," Jacklyn told him. "I've been in for nearly a year now." She chuckled a little. "The environment doesn't care about how old you are, Joe, or which school you go to."

"Point taken," he conceded. "Jacklyn – could you tell me – which members have wanted you to be more…active?"

Jacklyn sighed. "Well…there are two." She paused, evidently reluctant to name names, but at last she capitulated. "Albert Shaunessy…and Kirk Moncrief."


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you to Cherylann and Max2013.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 32

Laura and Andrea Bender went back into the restaurant, looking nervously around them as they did so. Laura knew Jeremy Isaacs would do his best…but what might his best have to cope with? She was angry beyond measure about her car tires – and she was frightened, too. The assaults were so direct…and personal! She and Andrea settled down at a table again, and asked for ice water.

Officer Isaacs stayed beside the car while he radioed headquarters for backup, and waited there until a patrol car arrived. While the uniforms were checking Laura's car, Isaacs rejoined his charges. Laura had called her husband while she waited, and Jeremy was quaking in his boots at the reception he was anticipating from Fenton Hardy!

"Do you think they'll find anything?" Laura demanded of Jeremy. She wished that she could watch what was going on with her car, from the restaurant window, but they'd parked around the corner. _That was a mistake_ , she thought ruefully. _We never should have parked where we couldn't keep an eye on the car!_

"Well…" Jeremy hesitated. "Probably not, ma'am. It looked like a very simple operation, to me. Stab in, slice on the way out. No fingerprints, no nothing."

Laura sighed. She hoped Fenton arrived soon.

###

Mr. Hardy snapped his cell phone shut, glowering. He was torn between being furious and being appalled – with a healthy dose of fear stirred in, for good measure! He looked over at Michael Ranson, who was observing him curiously.

"I've got to go," Fenton said tersely. "There's been another attack – someone slashed all the tires on Laura's car while she was out shopping!"

"Huh?" Ranson's jaw dropped slightly. "That's too bad—" He stopped, reflecting, and then went on: "but that means that now we know who they're after! It's not Erica, after all!" A delighted smile crossed his face. "She's safe!" He rose to his feet. "We can leave town! I've got to go tell her the good news! Hardy, thanks again for checking out Markham Glass for me – I'll send you a check for your fee." He extended a hand to Fenton. "Hope things work out okay for you and Laura. Tell her I'm sorry to hear about her car tires. Got to go now – I think we have to pack!"

Fenton was decidedly miffed at Ranson's cavalier attitude, but he managed to keep his temper in check. He clenched his molars together to keep from snapping rudely at the younger man, and muttered 'goodbye' as Michael took his leave.

And then Fenton strode from the coffee shop to his car, his jaw still tight. He needed to get to his wife!

#####

"Laura!" Fenton caught her in his arms and held her tightly for a long moment. Over Laura's head, he met Andrea's eyes, and smiled encouragingly at her. "Thank God you're all right! That you're both all right!" Relaxing his grip, Mr. Hardy turned to the rookie police officer hovering nearby. "Officer Isaacs, thank you for guarding them – what's wrong?" he added, seeing how agitated the young man appeared.

"I – I'm so sorry – I can't believe this happened!" Jeremy Isaacs stammered. "Mr. Hardy, I thought I was doing everything right!" The policeman's freckled face was pale, and his hands were shaking with nerves. "I guess I should have—"

"Isaacs – Jeremy, take it easy!" Fenton tried to soothe the distraught young man, holding up his hand to stem the frantic flow of words. "You didn't do anything wrong; calm down. You were guarding Laura and Andrea; that was your job, and you did exactly what you were supposed to do! If you had stayed with the car, who knows what might have happened to the ladies?"

"I—" Jeremy swallowed, at a loss for words. "But – but Mrs. Hardy's car—"

"Mrs. Hardy's car can be fixed," Laura stated, patting Jeremy's forearm reassuringly. "Jeremy, believe me, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for!"

 _He doesn't look entirely convinced, but at least he's relaxed a bit_ , Fenton thought with an inward smile. "If you don't mind staying with these beautiful women a little longer, Officer Isaacs," – he emphasized the title, hoping to get Jeremy's focus back on track – "I'd like to have a few words with the investigators," he said aloud, and departed for the parking lot once more.

He was back in just a few minutes. As Isaacs had told Laura, there wasn't anything to find. The tires had been stabbed and slashed with expertise.

"Let's get Andrea home," Fenton suggested to his wife. "Jeremy, thanks again. You're back on regular duty – but we may need you again."

#####

"Erica! We can leave!" Michael Ranson burst into the hotel suite, his face alive with delight at the news he bore. "We're off the hook! Someone slashed Laura Hardy's car tires – it's HER they're after!"

"Slashed Laura's tires!" Erica jumped to her feet, dropping the magazine she had been desultorily leafing through. "Is Laura all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure she's fine," Ranson replied absently, "but don't you get it? We can leave! You don't have to stay cooped up any more! It's not YOU!"

Erica smiled happily at the thought of regaining her freedom. "That's wonderful!" she cried, and flung herself excitedly into her husband's arms. Michael hugged her exuberantly, lifted her from her feet, and spun in a circle.

Their celebration was interrupted by the arrival of a blonde man in his mid-twenties, who emerged from one of the bedrooms, alerted by their raised voices. He was clad in khakis and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow – and he was wearing a pistol in a shoulder holster.

"Hey, Michael…you're back," he observed quietly.

"Ethan." Ranson nodded shortly. "Looks like your job's about over; we're leaving."

"Without even saying goodbye to Fenton and Laura?" Erica started to protest, but her words were cut off as Ethan spoke.

"I need to talk to you first," he said tersely, and jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom from whence he had come, indicating that Michael should follow him.

Erica bristled with indignation. "Quit treating me like a child, Ethan!" she snapped. "If you want to talk to Michael, talk. Here."

Ethan glared at his cousin. "All right, you asked for it," he grunted. Focusing his attention on Michael, he said, "You got a call a little while ago – from someone who left a message. Said to tell you that you're still in danger of losing something precious to you." Without moving his head, Ethan's eyes shifted towards Erica.

"WHAT?" Ranson roared. Instinctively, he moved to enclose Erica protectively in his arms, but she had already slipped from his grasp to confront Ethan.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded hotly. Outraged, Erica doubled up one small fist and slugged her cousin in the bicep.

"You were taking a shower," he replied defensively, fending her off. "And then…I thought – well, I didn't want to scare you, Erica, that's all – HEY!" He caught her hand before it could make contact with his arm again.

Michael, shocked to the core, flung himself into an armchair, scowling blackly. He was not only chagrined that his happy plans were thwarted, he was horror-stricken by the realization that Erica was still in peril. "Damn it! We're not out of the woods yet!" he expostulated.

Erica, still glaring at the hapless Ethan, moved to comfort her husband. "We could still just leave, Michael," she ventured, stroking the crisp dark hair. "There are places we could go…."

"And be chased across the country by someone we can't even identify?" he countered harshly.

"I suppose you're right," she conceded, "And I'd hate to feel that we'd run out on the Hardys, anyway."

Reminded of his ally in this strange battle, Ranson reached for the telephone. He knew he couldn't fight these shadowy enemies by himself, much as it galled him to admit it. He needed Fenton Hardy's assistance. As he dialed the recently-memorized number, he glanced at Ethan. "Go down and keep an eye on the car," he instructed.

Ethan departed, pulling a jacket on to conceal the shoulder holster.

" _Hello?"_

"Hardy? It's Michael Ranson." As he spoke, Michael thumped the table with a pen, flipping it back and forth between his fingers nervously.

" _Michael."_ Fenton's voice was quiet, and wary.

Michael, knowing he was in for a rough few minutes, sighed and squared his shoulders – and plunged ahead.

"Look—" he said, "I'm sorry I ran out on you, earlier. But…well…I'm very protective of Erica. I just—"

" _I understand very well, Michael,"_ Mr. Hardy snapped impatiently. Ranson frowned at the harsh tone of his voice – a tone that belied the words the other man uttered. _"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm rather busy—"_

"Wait! Listen!" Michael stopped thumping the pen, and looked somberly at Erica for a moment. Only for her would he humble himself like this! She smiled encouragingly at him, and squeezed his hand. "I – all right. It's like this. Someone called the hotel while I was gone, and left a threatening message. It looks like they – whoever 'they' are – aren't after just one of the women after all. It isn't either Laura or Erica…it's both."

Fenton was quiet long enough to make Michael wonder if they'd been disconnected, or if the other man had hung up on him. He waited, holding his breath, and finally heard Fenton exhale, very slowly.

" _Okay."_

Michael had no idea what that meant. _Okay, thanks for telling me? Okay, now I know? Okay, you told me, but I'm no longer interested? Okay, that's great, get lost!?_ He frowned and took a deep breath.

"Look," he broke the awkward silence, "I want in. I want whoever is behind this, and I don't think I can do it alone. I want this – I want these creeps in the worst way. Mr. Hardy…don't shut me out."

This time, the breath he heard wasn't controlled. It was explosive – with good reason.

" _NOW you want back in again?"_ Fenton demanded angrily. _"It's okay for you to leave town, back out, if it's just MY wife who's being threatened, as long as YOUR wife is safe, right? Get Erica involved again, and you're all hot to be in on the action! And I'm supposed to let you, not knowing if you might just pull out again if it suits you – maybe when it's more dangerous! You can't do it alone, you say – you need my help…but when I might have needed_ _your_ _help, you weren't interested!"_ Fenton pulled in another breath and continued the tirade, his voice escalating in volume. _"We're not playing a game here, Ranson! This is a life-and-death situation! This is about as important as it gets – no matter which wife is involved! At this point, I wouldn't pull out even if Laura wasn't being threatened. But that doesn't seem to be the way_ _you_ _operate!"_ The scathing tone was unmistakable.

Michael Ranson was not used to having people yell at him. He responded in kind.

"Look, Hardy, I'm not all noble, like you! I'm not Mr. Feel-Good, Do-Good, upholding Right for Right's Sake! I might wish I was – maybe – but I'm not," he snapped. "All I know is that I love my wife very much, and I want to keep her unharmed. I'd rather jump in front of a car, brave a hurricane, take a bullet, even, if it meant keeping her safe. You might say it's selfish, but I LOVE Erica, and I'm not ashamed of it – nor of anything I might do to keep her from being hurt."

A tense silence ensued, both over the telephone and in the hotel room. Erica sat in her chair, mouth agape as she stared at her husband, amazed by his outburst. Waiting for a reply – any reply – Michael sagged in his chair, breathing hard.

" _Well."_ Fenton finally spoke, but that was the only thing he said. Ranson heard him sigh deeply.

Erica suddenly grabbed for a pen, and started scribbling something on a piece of paper. After a moment, she held it up for Michael to see, shaking it to gain his attention. **APOLOGIZE!** it said, in big block letters. Ranson bit his lip hesitantly, and Erica gestured imperatively at the note, her chin jutting ominously.

Grudgingly, Ranson heeded his wife's advice. "Fenton?" he murmured, "I'm…sorry. I'm very sorry. I apologize for my actions – and the things I said. I was way out of line. I promise, I won't let you down after this."

Another deep sigh came through the receiver. _"And I'm supposed to believe that?"_ Fenton muttered. After another lengthy silence, he continued slowly: _"Okay. It's – I'm sorry too. I was a little hasty. I can't blame you for wanting to protect your wife. And you're right – I can't expect you to take on crime-fighting as a career."_

Relieved beyond measure at the older man's concession, Ranson lit a cigarette and dragged on it softly, trying to regain his composure. "Where do we go from here?" he asked, when he could speak normally again, "The plan we came up with?"

" _Yes,"_ Mr. Hardy replied. _"The same plan. I've already spoken to Ezra – Police Chief Collig. He's going to lend me eight officers, including two detectives. He'll make a statement to the press tonight – privately, I don't mean he's calling a press conference, just issuing a press release – that there are suspects in custody. The plan is for Laura to attend a bake sale on Sunday, at Hinsdale Lake Park, and then go for a walk by the lake. There should be plenty of opportunity for these guys to try to grab her, especially as they don't seem to be too concerned about witnesses. If you want Erica to be there, fine._ _If YOU want to be in on it, you'll need to be out of sight – or rather, you'll need to blend in."_

"Don't worry, Hardy," Michael said with grim amusement. "I can blend in. You won't even recognize me. Let's get these punks!"


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 33

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

There was very little hope in Joe Hardy's heart as he parked in the Bayport High student lot – out of habit, parking in what had been his 'usual' spot – close to one side of the lot, and nearer to the doors of the locker rooms than to the doors that went to the main part of the building. As he got out and took his athletic bag from the back seat of the car, he looked around, and saw that many of the other members of the Bayport Community College Titans football team had arrived. He wondered how _they_ were feeling.

Joe brushed his hair back with a resigned sigh, and walked toward the gym doors with dread occupying his stomach like a small leaden ball. They were scheduled to play against the Lutheran Heart College football team. A small college, to be sure – but they had a fiercely impressive reputation on the small college circuit. And an incredible win-loss ratio. Considering the state of the BCC football team… _Sheesh, we don't even have a chance!_

But as he crossed the threshold of the Bayport High gymnasium, and went down the familiar corridor that led to the home team locker room, Joe felt a small upsurge of excitement fill him – accompanied by a surge of adrenaline – at the thought of playing football there again. The Bayport High locker room, with its familiar scents of sweat, liniment and well-used athletic shoes, reminded him of all the games they had played – and won – while he was in high school. He thought fondly of his old chums – Chet Morton, Biff Hooper, Tony Prito, and of course, Frank – who had played on the team with him. And he proudly recalled the great record their school had when all five of them had been on the same team!

Unfortunately, the Titans were NOT that same team. But still, he was excited to be playing college ball, and being here on the Bayport High field felt like coming home again. It wouldn't be the same as playing on that new field at college…but still, it was exciting. He loved playing football. It was that simple.

Inside the noisy, echoing locker room, Coach Blankenship was calling for their attention, raising his voice to a shout to be heard over the excited chatter.

"All right, team! Gather round! Everyone gather round here!"

The young men sat on benches or kneeled near the coach, and turned their attention to him.

"We've got a long road ahead of us," Blankenship said, after a moment. "But we can do this. We may not have a whole team of ace players. We may not end up with a great win-loss record. We may not even be able to play on our home field – but we ARE a team. And we have heart. Now, listen up: Remember your plays – listen to, and watch your team leaders. PAY ATTENTION – to them, and to me and the other coaches! If you do those things, maybe – just maybe – we can do what we were told we can't. We can WIN!"

The team let out a mighty roar, Joe joining in with them. The adrenaline he'd felt earlier was building now. He was going to play – play college football! And listening to Coach Blankenship, the preposterous idea that they might actually _win_ the game didn't seem so preposterous after all. Joe grinned as he slapped a few of his fellow players on the back, and looked around to see other teammates settling their pads into place and squaring their shoulders, jaws set in resolution. All the game faces were in place now – and the Bayport Community College Titans were nothing if not determined!

"We may have lost our new field," Coach Blankenship continued, "But we haven't lost our dedication. Our drive. Our focus. We haven't lost our desire, or our need to win. We're what make the team. Where we play doesn't matter. Now, on 3: One…two…."

On 'three', the team yelled: "ROLL TITANS!"

With another strident bellow, they ran from the locker room, cleats clattering loudly on the cement, and toward the field – to the shouts and whistles of the home crowd, who had come to encourage and cheer them on. Joe glimpsed Vanessa, standing with Frank and Megan in the front row of the stands, all of them waving their hands and cheering ecstatically. A familiar sharp whistle reached his ears: Frank's customary signal. Joe flashed the 'I Love You' hand sign to Vanessa, who laughed and returned it, then blew him a kiss. He grinned, and turned back to his team.

###

By half-time, Joe was beginning to wonder if the Titans were better than he'd given them credit for – or if the opposition wasn't as good as they were supposed to be! Had Lutheran Heart possibly made the mistake of overlooking the Titans; hadn't brought their 'A' game? The score was surprisingly close: 3 to 5, Lutheran Heart having gotten two points on a safety; the rest of the points gained on two well-kicked field goals. Joe felt great; he'd made several decent plays; he'd gotten some good tosses from the quarterback for once, and he was feeling in general high spirits as they went through the half-time break, and refreshed themselves for the second half of the game.

Joe continued to occasionally watch the stands, when he wasn't actually on the field; knowing that the S.F.E. members were there was making him jittery, even though Jacklyn and Dave had assured him that all they were doing was passing out informational fliers. He wondered uneasily whether whoever was behind the arsons would be brave enough – or stupid enough – to set a fire at Bayport High. He hoped not – he really hoped not. _Whoever it is has been concentrating on the college,_ he reminded himself. _Nowhere else. It'll be fine…._

 _Was it really Kirk Moncrief? Or the other guy that Jacklyn mentioned – what was his name?_ Joe frowned as he tried to remember, then nodded. _Albert. Albert Shaunessy._ He didn't know _anything_ about this Shaunessy guy, nothing at all – and that made him nervous as well. He wished he did. Was this guy a suspect they knew nothing about? Maybe he and Kirk Moncrief were working together! Although he'd talked briefly to the two guys Dave had wanted him to meet, Mitch and Harry, the ones who had mentioned 'the weirdo,' they hadn't been very forthcoming. They'd admitted that both Kirk and Albert tended to fit that description, but they hadn't felt confident about accusing either one of actually starting the fires.

Joe glanced again at the stands, looking for his brother. He spotted Frank sitting with the two girls, rubbing his arm above his cast and looking irritable, grimacing with distaste over something or other. Joe wondered what the problem was – ordinarily, Frank enjoyed football games, liked watching them even though he no longer played himself, and was always more than willing to attend Joe's games. Maybe his shoulder was bothering him more than usual? He saw Frank look up, then stand up, staring at something over Joe's head.

Joe turned slowly and looked – then saw what Frank had been staring at. Kirk Moncrief was standing at one end of the football field, staring into the stands.

#####

"Frank? What is it?" Megan could see that Frank was bothered by something.

The little redhead was feeling much better than she had a week ago, and the excitement of the game was a good distraction. She'd gotten the forehead stitches out the previous day, and although she still had some bruises that hadn't yet faded, and her nose hurt if bumped, Megan was considerably happier about the world. She had been sitting with hands tightly clasped in her lap, occasionally unclenching them to clap in appreciation of a good play, cuddled against Frank, but with her attention focused on the game – until he suddenly sprang out of his seat and leaned forward on the railing that went around the stands. She stood up too, moving to his side.

He turned to give her a distracted smile and pursed his lips in the pantomime of a kiss – and then motioned towards the end of the playing field, returning his attention to that spot. "Kirk Moncrief," he muttered. "He's been watching us. Well – not just us. Just standing there, watching, for some time."

"Mmmm." Megan made an uncertain, dubious noise, and looked where Frank indicated. Yes, Kirk was there, all right. "Frank, darling, he's allowed to be at a football game, you know…."

"I have an idea," Frank said now. "I want to try and search his car."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" she demurred. "Suppose someone catches you? Worse, suppose Kirk catches you? And for that matter, do you know what his car looks like? You can't go around breaking into a bunch of cars on the off chance!"

"All right, smarty, what does he drive then? I know it's a dark blue compact." Frank frowned. He'd seen it at Megan's, pulling out….

"It's a Focus hatchback, and I don't think it's been washed in months," she told him, smiling impishly. "I can't give you the full license number, but I know it starts ALC. That help? But again, what if he catches you?"

"Well, then I'll need a distraction. One of you two will just have to distract Kirk, if you see him leaving his spot." Frank grinned down at her. _Oh please, let it be Vanessa who distracts him!_ he thought, but didn't say anything out loud. _I don't trust Kirk around Megan! Not at all!_

"Somehow, I'd expected that," Megan muttered. She beckoned Vanessa to join them, and quietly explained what was needed. "We may not have to do anything at all," she concluded. "Only if Kirk looks like he's leaving the field area…."

"Okay, we can do that," Vanessa replied cheerfully. "We'll both watch him and – if necessary – distract him. After all, two of us are better than one."

"Double whammy," Frank grinned. "Who could resist a blonde-redhead combo, after all? But remember – distract him, don't beat him up!" He moved out of the stands cautiously, taking care to keep his arm from being jostled by the crowds of people coming back from the concession booths.

Frank sauntered out to the Bayport High parking lots, hoping to spot Kirk's car, remembering glumly that he'd seen it more than he'd cared to, at Megan's house! To his delight, he soon found it, the dusty blue hatchback with the ALC plate, and he walked towards it as casually as he would have walked to his own Saturn, which was parked near the backside of the lot.

He passed Kirk's car without a glance, and actually did walk to his Saturn – where he retrieved his lock pick set from the bag in his back seat. He took out the two tools he'd need to get into Moncrief's car, and returned the set to the bag. He relocked his car, and strolled over to Kirk's car – and then paused, scowling.

 _Why is it everything I've always taken for granted seems to need two arms?_ Frank frowned, and then very carefully, he slipped the sling off his bad arm. Immediately, he caught his lower lip in his teeth, fighting back a groan as his not-yet-healed shoulder had to take the weight not only of his arm, but the cast, too. Grimly, he forced himself to concentrate as he bent forward and set to work.

He was rewarded a few seconds later, when there came a clicking sound, and the hatchback sprang open. Frank stared into the interior of Kirk Moncrief's car.

He wasn't surprised – not really – to find himself looking down at the one piece of evidence they had been searching for all along. A brown fake-leather backpack, 'Recycle' sticker prominently visible, sat there…next to a dark green, hooded sweatshirt with an environmental logo on the front.

 _Bingo!_

And then, after a moment, he closed the hatch, careful not to leave prints on the car, a frown creasing his forehead. _This is all great, but…but we can't use it! It's all circumstantial – so Kirk has a dark green sweatshirt with a hood, and a brown backpack. So might a whole lot of other people! I broke into his car to find it; that automatically means it can't be used as evidence against him._

Frank shook his head and walked slowly from the parking lot, his thoughts continuing to churn. _I can't even tell Con Riley about it. And even if I did – what could he do? Tomorrow's the sting at the park to try and catch whoever's been after Mom and Erica Ranson. That's more important right now than the fact that Kirk Moncrief owns a green hooded sweatshirt….Damn it! Well, at the very least, we can try to keep an eye on him, though. We can do that much._

Dispiritedly, he climbed the stadium stairs and rejoined Megan and Vanessa, who were still dividing their attention between the game and Kirk Moncrief.

"Well?" Megan's eyes were wide with curiosity. "Tell me!"

"A green hooded sweatshirt and a brown fake-suede backpack, all right," Frank informed them. "But even with that, we can't do anything! It's all still just suspicion." He looked across the field. "I take it Kirk didn't do anything you felt was worth messing with, since he's still there and you're still here?"

"He just watched the game," Vanessa reported, sighing. "He never left his spot – ah!"

For even as she spoke, the crowds in the stands surged to their feet in anticipation of a long pass catch, Frank and the girls with them – and Kirk Moncrief was blocked from their view. When Frank looked again, the boy was gone…he had simply melted into the crowd.


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, Max2013 and sm2003495, for the reviews!

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 34

 _Damn all the luck…_ _good_ _luck this time, though – not bad!_

The man who lived two houses down and across the street from the Hardys, smiled to himself as he read the _Bayport Gazette_. Headlines blazoned the news: "Kidnap Suspects Arrested!" and the accompanying article told of the arrest of three suspects in the mall kidnap attempt the previous week.

Knowing that one of his men _had_ been taken into custody, the man had contacted his two remaining subordinates, to find out if they were free or not – and discovered that they were. The cops had obviously gotten the wrong people. It didn't matter all that much – save that he fervently hoped that this mistake would cause the women – and their overzealous bodyguards! – to let their guards down.

It was the best of luck, as far as _he_ was concerned! He could do what he'd set out to do: _capture the two women!_ Turn them over to his bosses. He could practically _taste_ his promotion!

And his revenge…oh yes! The taste of revenge would be especially sweet…!

Calmly, he called his men again, with a succinct message: "Step up surveillance on them both – and go for it, as soon as you have the chance!"

#####

SUNDAY MORNING

Nervously, Laura Hardy got into her car to drive to the park. _It's a good thing no one can see my hands,_ she thought to herself, noting how they were shaking. She wondered whether she could make it there without causing a car accident! She forced herself to act normally, to not check the mirrors more than she normally would, to _not_ react to the ominous appearance of a blue van in her rear-view mirror, which stayed a normal distance behind her…but never allowed another car to get in between them!

 _I'm glad Erica was driving herself to the park,_ Laura thought, chewing on her lip as she flicked her eyes once more to the rear-view mirror. _I just hope I make it there before these guys try anything! What if they force me over now, before I get there, and…._ But before she could panic herself with these speculations, Laura remembered the reassuring presence not far behind: Frank in his shiny black Saturn. He wouldn't let anything happen to her, she knew that. _Relax, Laura!_ she ordered herself firmly, and flexed her hands slightly on the wheel, loosening the tight grip.

Arriving safely at the park, Laura pulled into a parking space beneath the shady trees. She got out, glancing quickly around to check for the blue van, which seemed to have temporarily disappeared, and opened the car trunk, removing the box of baked goods she had brought along with her.

Laura noticed a familiar black Saturn enter a nearby parking space, and stifled an urge to laugh as her elder son climbed out. Frank was wearing dark glasses with a piece of tape across the nose. His dark-brown hair had been parted on the side, and slicked back in a style wholly foreign to him. He was clad in jeans and a buttoned-down-the-front Madras plaid shirt, and old, worn sneakers. Ignoring Laura, he chewed industriously on a wad of gum as he carried a bag towards a nearby tree – which just happened to be growing very close to the Bayport High School Alumni Parents Association bake-sale booth!

" _Nerd-boy."_ That's what Joe had called him, and Joe had nearly laughed himself sick when he viewed Frank's appearance. But Laura thought he looked adorable, in an odd sort of way. Frank himself hadn't complained too much over his disguise, although he did comment that chewing all that gum made his jaws ache!

 _Speaking of Joe…._ As Laura set her offerings down on the table inside the booth, she saw her youngest son, her husband, and the youthful Jeremy Isaacs, tossing a football around on the nearby grass. Again, she wanted to laugh. Fenton was wearing a horrible blonde wig and a fake blonde mustache, and wraparound reflective sunglasses. _He looks nothing at all like the man I'm married to!_ Laura thought. Jeremy had added a fake ponytail to his normally neat professional hairstyle, and was wearing glasses rather than his usual contact lenses.

Joe hadn't changed anything; he looked the same as he usually did, clad in cutoff jeans and a t-shirt which announced it was 'Property of Bayport Community College Athletic Dept." At the moment, he was throwing a football OVER Jeremy Isaac's head with great enthusiasm, and yelling both gibes and encouragement as Jeremy had to pursue and retrieve the ball.

Laura smiled fondly. Joe was walking on air today, she knew, after the totally unexpected win Bayport CC's football team had managed over Lutheran Heart College the previous day. _Six to five the final score….Joe made that incredible lay-out catch late in the fourth quarter, and then a few moments later, the kicker nailed a 23-yard field goal – and they pulled it out, when no one thought they had a chance! Maybe that's a good omen for today, too!_

"Laura!" Mrs. Hardy glanced around, and smiled and waved. Erica Ranson was approaching the booth. Dressed in jeans, a lilac-colored t-shirt and tennis shoes, with her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, Erica looked about 16 years old.

"Hi, honey." Laura hugged the younger woman briefly. "It was nice of you to come to support the bake sale," she said clearly, for the benefit of any and all listeners. "Are you okay?" she added, in a much lower tone.

"Yes…" Erica glanced around, seemingly a bit nervous about the possible events of the day. "I'm fine. I'm glad to be out of the hotel!" Suddenly she giggled. "Laura, you'd never recognize Michael!" she whispered.

The popping sound of a motorcycle engine drowned her words, and a well-used Harley-Davidson cruised by the booth and swung into a parking spot nearby. The rider dismounted and approached, removing a wicked-looking visored riding helmet as he did so. Laura watched him nervously. Kidnappers aside, there was always the chance of _other_ weirdoes showing up at a park! The man appeared young; he had dark hair with two purple streaks in it, a black leather jacket and leather riding pants, and knee-high riding boots. Chains and several large pieces of jewelry glinted in the September morning sunlight, and he swung the helmet nonchalantly by the strap as he walked.

Pausing beside the booth, the young man lighted a cigarette and took a long drag, expertly blowing out decorative smoke rings as he slowly exhaled. Grinning impudently at the women, he addressed them in a gravelly yet nasal twang: "Hiya, babes!"

Laura stared at him, murmuring a noncommittal reply, slightly affronted by his attitude…and then she saw something familiar in the intense blue gaze of the biker, and glancing at Erica, saw the twinkle in the girl's eyes. And now that she knew who it was – who it HAD to be – Laura could recognize Michael Ranson! She smiled and shook her head in near-disbelief.

Michael exhaled again, blowing more smoke rings, and glanced around at the set-up of the bake sale. "You got any uh that banana bread?" he inquired. "My lady has an awful yen for some. An' maybe some uh that there chocolate cake." He pointed with the hand holding the cigarette.

Laura bit her lip and swallowed hard, schooling herself not to laugh. She'd never suspected Michael Ranson of having a penchant for comic acting, but the man was incredibly good – and obviously enjoying himself! "Yes, we have some banana bread," she replied, slipping with the ease of long practice into her 'sales' persona. She recited the costs of both requested items, her voice registering dubiousness as to whether this biker actually had enough money to _pay_ for both of them!

Ranson made a large show of patting down his pockets, finally pulling out a ragged wallet. He slowly counted out the desired amount – all in worn dollar bills.

Laura packaged up the banana bread and chocolate cake for Michael, who grinned at her, winked saucily at Erica, and took his leave. She handed the money over to another of the women in the booth – someone who was actually on duty there – who had been rearranging the items to make room for Laura's offerings, and then rearranging them again, as the bread and cake were removed.

"Penny, I'd like to introduce a friend of mine, Erica Ranson," Laura said now. "Erica, this is Penny Davis, one of the organizers of this bake sale." Erica smiled charmingly at the plump Penny, as Laura continued speaking: "Penny, do you need help with anything else?"

"I could use another hand," Penny admitted. "Maybe you two could set up all the cookies and candies over on this table? I'd like to keep the categories separate, if possible."

Laura and Erica set to work, and soon the cookie-and-candy display table was arranged in what they hoped was an attractive layout. More and more people started coming to the bake-sale booth, and for a short time, all the women were busy helping their customers.

Laura was beginning to wonder if anything was going to happen. Maybe this whole elaborate charade was for nothing! Perhaps they were in too public a place, after all. As if reading her thoughts, Erica moved close and whispered, "I almost hope nothing happens. I'm starting to get butterflies in my stomach!"

"We'll hold out a little longer," Laura murmured in return. "Maybe the kidnappers have given up – but maybe they haven't! I know how you feel, honey; I'm nervous as a witch myself! But I really want this to be over with, right now. I don't want to have to go through this again!"

"You're right—" Erica sighed. "I don't like feeling caged up…I want to be free again! I just wish something would happen – and yet, I'm scared to death something will happen!"

"Be careful what you wish for," Laura whispered with a small chuckle. A little louder, she said, "Things are slowing down here – would you like to take a walk down by the lake, Erica?" Softly, she added, "I think no one is going to try anything while we're here, surrounded by so many people."

"Sure, that would be great. Can we feed the ducks?"

"Of course." Laura selected a loaf of sliced bread and paid for it. "Come on, let's go."

The two women strolled towards the lake at a normal pace, chatting about the bake sale success and the ducks. Glancing casually at her surroundings, Laura saw Fenton motion to Joe, a 'go out for a long one,' gesture, and saw Joe take off at a hard lope towards the lake, then pivot, just in time to catch the football. Joe then waved to Jeremy, who fanned out right – towards Laura and Erica.

Under his tree, Frank stretched, and put his book into his bag. He pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, then gathered up his bag and walked towards the lake, avoiding the football players. Finding a convenient bench, he settled down on it and took out his book once more.

Laura almost laughed, but forced her attention back to Erica – just in time to see a clown with white makeup and a diabolical painted grin approach them, holding a large bunch of helium balloons! Laura flinched back, afraid that this might be the assailant – and was startled to hear Erica hiss, so softly that it was barely audible: "Ethan, go away!"

The clown – whom Erica knew, apparently! – bowed, and silently offered each lady a balloon. They both declined, and he drifted away, sadly.

Erica and Laura found a bench near the water's edge – and just as importantly, near Frank's bench – and sat down. They started to tear off chunks of homemade bread and toss them into the lake, for the ducks – who had noticed their arrival, and were streaking towards the spot with a riotous clamoring!

A few joggers trotted past, one with a most familiar face – Con Riley, looking nothing like his usual professional self, clad in shorts, t-shirt, and running shoes, with a fanny pack strapped in place. Seeing him, Laura felt a little better; she knew that pack was holding a lot more than sunscreen and a water bottle. She wondered what it was like to try and jog with a 9mm Beretta jiggling on one's hip!

Laura was beginning to wonder again if this elaborate plot was all for nothing. Her stomach was tying itself into knots. Sternly, she admonished herself, reminding herself that something like this could take hours, and she mustn't give the game away by acting strangely.

"Where are you and Michael going to go when you leave Bayport?" she asked Erica softly, tossing another chunk of bread to a small brown duck, who pounced on it with avidity.

"I'm not sure," Erica replied. "Michael said something about Atlanta. I'd like to talk him into somewhere a little more exotic than Atlanta, though – say, Tahiti, or the Fiji Islands – or the Bahamas. Or maybe the Virgin Islands…St. Maarten might be nice."

"Have you been to any of those places before?"

"My parents took me to St. John when I was about 14 or 15," Erica replied. "But I suspect that we'll end up wherever we need to be for Michael's business, actually. I just hope it isn't Atlanta, after we were in New Orleans so recently!"

Laura was about to say that she agreed with her, when the sound of a throat being cleared behind her made her stiffen and choke off her words.

They both turned – and saw a tall man standing directly behind their bench, one hand in a pocket. He pulled it out just enough for them to see the hilt of a gun. Very quietly, he said, "Ladies, if you want to live, get up and come with me….now."

Laura inhaled sharply, hoping that their watchers were, indeed, _watching_! If they weren't – if no one noticed – this could get seriously messy! Moving slowly, Laura stood up and took Erica's hand in hers as the younger woman rose. She was aware of Frank sitting up straighter on his bench, his eyes fixed on them behind the cracked sunglasses. _At least Frank noticed, thank you God!_

"This way." The man put a hand on Laura's shoulder to steer them around the lake.

A surreptitious glance at Erica showed Laura that the young woman was pale with fright. She squeezed her hand comfortingly.

"Keep going around the lake, ladies," their escort whispered. He gently guided them with the hand on Laura's shoulder. She walked obediently, feeling as though she might be sick. _Stay calm…you have to stay calm. If you panic, or Erica panics, this thing could go very bad very quickly._

Fenton had warned both of them, over and over again, that they initially must do what the men wanted – and that they must NOT act until they heard the signal! "Cooperate with them," he'd repeated. "Lull them into thinking you're not going to fight."

It was the hardest thing Laura had had to do in a long time. She didn't want to go with this man…she didn't want to cooperate. She wanted to kick him, and then run away as fast as she could!

Laura noticed the battered blue van she had seen before, moving along the access road about 50 yards off the lake. The same blue van she had seen in her mirror. The same blue van she had seen parked next to the mall the day she and Erica had nearly been kidnapped the first time.

Quick, nervous glances told her that various people were moving in on them from different directions: Frank had abandoned his backpack to move along the lake shore, casually skipping stones across the water now and then. Fenton and Joe had stopped tossing the football, and Jeremy was moving towards them with purposeful strides. On the edge of her vision, Laura could see a bright flutter of balloons as the clown strolled closer. She heard the distant staccato 'pop' of a motorcycle engine….

She wasn't sure where things abruptly started going wrong.

Fenton's voice came to her clearly, yelling "NOW!" and she moved quickly, shoving Erica to one side, away from their assailant – and then she heard the sound of repeated gunfire, both close and farther away. Laura fell to the ground, throwing herself half onto Erica, sheltering the young woman and allowing her more security. And then a moment later she was nearly mashed into the turf as someone covered HER, and she heard Joe's voice saying "Lie still, Mom, stay down until the shooting stops!"

After what seemed like time in an endless loop, it was quiet. Laura felt Joe slide off her, and she raised her head…

…and let out a cry of protest. For lying facedown nearby was Jeremy Isaacs – with a pool of blood forming under one shoulder.


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann and Max2013!

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 35

"Oh no – Jeremy!" Laura struggled to her hands and knees, intending to go to the young policeman's aid.

"Wait, Mom – wait a sec!" Joe laid a restraining hand on her back. "Dad hasn't given the 'all-clear' yet!" But even as he spoke, they heard the familiar sharp whistle, and Joe's hold slackened. He rocked to his hands and knees, looking about at the chaotic scene with concern, as Laura scrambled up and started across the grass.

 _Where is everyone? Are they all right?_ Joe sought familiar faces – Frank, his father, Con Riley – and Jeremy Isaacs, with whom he'd just been playing football. _Frank's okay – and so's Dad…and Con. But Jeremy's not…._ Joe could hear Con Riley's raised voice, apparently yelling into his police radio, talking to Dispatch:

"Shots fired – officer down….Multiple casualties, Barb; we need medics here NOW!"

An audible reply crackled back; Con must have had the volume on his radio turned up to the max. _"Already rolling, Lt. Riley! They should be there in just a few minutes."_

Joe got to his feet and extended a hand to Erica Ranson, who had ended up on the bottom of the pile, and looked more than slightly shaken as a result.

"You okay, Mrs. Ranson?"

"Yes, Joe – thank you." Erica took his hand and got to her feet. Like Joe, she gazed around, trying to tally the damages. "That was…I didn't like that," she finished wryly.

 _Talk about an understatement!_ "Neither did I. But you're okay," Joe reminded her, "and we got 'em!" He pointed at the man who had been escorting Laura and Erica around the lake, who was now lying on the ground, guarded by two plainclothes policemen. He was groaning and cursing, evidently having been injured, but his captors didn't seem to be paying much attention to his complaints; rather they were ignoring him with callous disregard. Two more men were currently being handcuffed by other officers. "We got 'em!" Joe repeated triumphantly.

Fenton, yanking off the obnoxious blonde wig, and tugging at his glued-on moustache, strode across the grass towards Joe and Erica, followed by Con Riley. "Where's your mother – ah!" They changed direction as Joe indicated Laura kneeling beside Jeremy Isaacs. Con increased his pace and arrived there first. He bent over the rookie cop as Laura rose to her feet and flung herself into her husband's arms.

"Laura – honey…" Fenton crushed her tightly against him, and didn't say anything more for a few moments. He just held her.

Finally Laura raised her head from his shoulder, feeling surreptitious movements behind her. "What are you doing?" she inquired.

"Taking off this—" Fenton took firm hold of his moustache once again and gave a yank. "OW!" Wincing and muttering, he tried again, this time peeling the offending disguise away from his skin millimeter by millimeter, while Laura watched and tried to stifle her giggles. "Damn it…ouch…ow!" Finally he managed to loosen it, and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans.

"Poor baby," Laura laughed softly, and lightly kissed his reddened upper lip. "There. All better."

Joe had followed his father, and now knelt next to Con, who had gingerly turned Isaacs onto his back. Joe, looking down at the young man, blew out a relieved sigh. Jeremy was conscious, clutching his bleeding right shoulder, and trying his best to force a smile through gritted teeth.

"Ow…ow…ow!" Jeremy hissed with pain as Con folded a handkerchief and put pressure on the bullet wound.

"Sorry….Hang on, the EMT's will be here in a shake; Barb at Dispatch said so," Con reassured him. "And then you won't have to put up with my amateur fumbling."

"That's good – ouch!" Jeremy tried to grin at Joe. "I now know…I don't want to get shot any more!" he announced, with certainty.

Joe returned the grin. "Don't blame you."

"How bad is it?" Now Laura and Fenton were there too, and Laura anxiously asked the question, aiming it somewhere between Con and Jeremy.

"Looks like it gouged a chunk out of the side of his shoulder," Con replied, lifting his handkerchief briefly to inspect the damage. "Nothing lodged in his arm."

"It – could be worse, ma'am," Jeremy said bravely. "It hurts like blazes, but I'll probably live." He gazed up at her. "Are you all right, Mrs. Hardy?"

"I thought we'd decided you were going to call me Laura," she gently chided him, her voice decidedly shaky, "and yes, I'm fine."

"That's good – couldn't let the bad guys hurt you!" He essayed another grin, this one directed at Laura.

"But they hurt you," she pointed out with a smile – and misty eyes.

"Heck, I was just doing my job." Jeremy turned his gaze to Joe. "Do you think I can get some dates out of this?" he said hopefully. "The sympathy angle, maybe?"

Joe, Con and Fenton all burst into laughter – and after a moment, Laura joined in, shaking her head.

The sounds of motors and sirens announced the arrival of the paramedics, two full crews. Jeremy groaned.

"Do I have to do this? Can't I just – I don't know, go home and stick a Band-Aid on it? I hate hospitals!" he protested.

"Buck up, champ; you're going to one anyway," Con informed him, his eyes twinkling. "If the Chief heard I didn't insist on it, it would be MY head on the chopping block – so you're going to be a good boy, and cooperate."

Jeremy sighed and capitulated. "Yes sir, Lt. Riley," he said glumly. "I'll try."

###

Frank, meanwhile, had picked himself up from the turf, testing his shoulder and finding it no worse than usual. He removed the tape-adorned dark glasses and stuffed them into his pocket with relief, and ran his hand through his dark hair, mussing and ruffling it a more normal style. He couldn't do anything about the shirt, but he was delighted to spit out the chewing gum!

Seeing Erica Ranson standing alone and looking anxiously around, he walked over to join her. "Erica? Are you okay?" he asked.

She looked up at him, and he saw her chin quiver. "I think so...but…"

"Would you like to sit down somewhere?" Frank inquired gently.

"N-no." She continued to gaze about worriedly. "Frank, have you seen Michael anywhere?"

"Michael?" Frank frowned in some confusion. "I didn't even know he was here!"

"He was here – he rode in on the Harley!" she exclaimed. "But now I don't see him anywhere…."

 _The guy on the Harley – was Mr. Ranson?_ Frank could scarcely believe his ears. He looked around again, and not finding what he sought, called to his father. "Dad! Have you seen Mr. Ranson?"

Fenton came over to them. "No – I didn't see him at all." _Which is odd,_ he thought, abruptly worried. _After all the fuss he made about being included, and with Erica here – why wouldn't he show up?_

Frank quickly explained Ranson's disguise, and after an amused snort, Fenton frowned in thought. "The biker, hmmm? The last time I saw him, he was near that row of bushes, down the hill…coming towards us right before all the shooting started."

Erica ran in the indicated direction without a backwards glance, and after a second's hesitation, Fenton and Frank followed her. She darted down the little hill – and the next moment, the two men heard her give a sobbing cry:

"Michael!"

The Harley was lying on its side on the grass, and beside it, sprawled on his back, lay the leather-clad biker. His eyes were closed, and in addition to the purple stripes in his hair, there was now an additional one – a dark crimson slice along the side of his head. Fenton felt his heart lurch. _Michael, a casualty?_ Ranson's words echoed in his mind: _I'd…take a bullet, even…._

Erica flung herself on her knees beside her husband, sobbing. "Michael!" she whimpered again. "Michael, wake up…wake up…please….You're all right – tell me you're all right!"

"Erica – honey, let me see…." Fenton said gently. He crouched down, and eased her to the side, then took a good look at Ranson. Frank yelled up the hill, calling for the paramedics, then squatted down too, across from his father.

"Strong heartbeat…" Mr. Hardy commented softly.

"He's breathing fine," Frank murmured in reply, "and that gash is pretty shallow—" He broke off abruptly. "Mr. Ranson?"

For Michael's eyes had opened. He blinked, then squinted in obvious pain. "God Almighty, what a headache! What happened to me?"

"You were shot," Fenton informed him. "Stay still, Michael, we'll have the EMTs here in just a minute."

"Shot?" Ranson echoed weakly. "Wow…." He reached to enclose Erica in his arms. "Erica – sweetheart, don't cry! It's just a little nick. I'll be fine." He looked hopefully at the Hardys, over Erica's bowed head. "Won't I?"

"A little nick!" Her tears were fast turning into hysterical sobs. "Getting hit at all was too much – how can you be so calm about it?"

"I…don't have…much choice, sweetheart. I think…my head would explode, if I got excited. Never had a headache like this before." Ranson sought Fenton's face and attempted a smile. "You know, Hardy – when I said I'd take a bullet to save Erica…I didn't have any idea it was going to HURT so damned much!" He closed his eyes, grimacing.

"Should have had your helmet on," Fenton said with a sympathetic grin.

"Yeah, yeah – but I couldn't see well enough, with it on." Michael patted Erica again. "Come on Erica, it's okay—"

The medics arrived, followed by Con Riley. "What's this? Some civilian get mixed up in this mess?" the police officer demanded testily, as the EMTs set to work.

"Look again, Con," Fenton advised him with a knowing grin, "it's not an innocent civilian bystander at all!"

Con took a second look, and appeared to notice Erica's presence and state of mind for the first time. "RANSON?" he gasped in disbelief, and started to chuckle. "I never would have known you!"

"That was – the whole idea," Ranson gritted. "It wouldn't have been much of a disguise if you'd recognized me!" He submitted to having his vitals checked, and a bandage wound about his head, but then he sat up, waving off further assistance, and cuddled Erica in his arms. Her sobs began to slowly diminish as he held her, rocking soothingly.

His presence no longer needed there, Frank ascended the slope and found a bench to sit down on, thinking about what a close thing it had been. _Jeremy Isaacs shot, Michael Ranson shot…way, way too close!_ Idly, he watched the two police officers who were still standing guard over the fallen kidnapper.

To Frank's mild surprise, the balloon-bearing clown seemed to have been in on the capture of one of the would-be kidnappers. No longer remaining mute, the man was talking to one of the officers, gesturing at the prisoners. As Frank watched, the clown doubled up a fist and smacked it into his palm, apparently demonstrating his technique. Frank wondered who he might be. _One of Con's men,_ he supposed. He also wondered what had happened to all the balloons! Had the guy simply let them go? He looked up into the blue September sky, but no helium balloons were to be seen.

The wounded kidnapper had evidently already been attended to by the paramedics, and he lay on a stretcher, waiting to be placed in an ambulance. His groans were interspersed with language that Frank certainly did NOT wish Laura to overhear! He hoped she was too busy comforting Jeremy Isaacs to pay attention! Deciding to add to the diversion, Frank went over to Jeremy's side.

One of the paramedics was bandaging Jeremy's arm, and preparing him for transport to the hospital, as Laura and Joe stood by, watching and attempting to keep Jeremy's spirits up.

"He's going to be fine," the EMT said cheerfully, fastening off the bandage. "He'll have to wear a sling for a couple of weeks while the arm heals, though. The doctor can tell you better, after you've been fixed up," she added to Jeremy.

"Weeks?" Jeremy complained.

Frank nodded knowingly. "It's not so bad – for a couple of weeks," he told the young policeman, indicating his own sling and cast. "When you've worn one for a couple of months, come back and gripe about it to me!"

"Good point!" the young police officer conceded with a grin.

Jeremy was helped into one of the ambulances. Laura, Frank and Joe were shortly joined by Fenton, who wore a very determined look on his face.

"I need to do some interrogating," Mr. Hardy growled beneath his breath, and proceeded to walk over to where the ringleader lay on his stretcher. Con Riley followed him, still on guard.

Fenton looked down at the man, who was glaring up at him with unconcealed hostility. The detective stared thoughtfully for a few moments, then glanced over to where Michael and Erica Ranson sat on a nearby park bench. He looked back at the man on the stretcher.

"Fabian Keebler," he said with certainty.

Keebler glared at him with even more ferocity. "You aren't going to get away with putting me away again, Hardy!" he snarled. "You're going to pay for this! You'll be dead before it ever goes to court!"

Con Riley's gaze was as cold as blue ice. "Keebler, get one thing straight: if anyone dies, I'll make sure you're locked up so deeply that no one will ever see or hear from you again!"

Hearing the name, Michael Ranson slowly rose from his bench and walked towards them, followed by his wife. He stared down into Keebler's face, then moving very carefully, got down on one knee beside the stretcher. He didn't say anything, but the look on his face was dangerous…extremely dangerous. The bandage on his head, his black leather clothing and other 'biker' accoutrements only served to make him even more menacing.

"Fenton, how do you know this Keebler person?" Laura asked quietly of her husband.

"I helped put him away 20 years ago, for robbery and homicide," he stated grimly. "That explains why he was after you…but I don't know what Michael's connection is."

Ranson glanced up. "I fired him about a month ago," he reported glacially, "for trying to steal corporate secrets from one of my companies. He threatened me and Erica…and I told him if he ever came anywhere near us again, I'd have him hung by his… thumbnails…from the Empire State Building!"

Fenton suspected Ranson hadn't said "thumbnails" in his original threat.

Erica looked down at Keebler nervously, and then took Michael's arm in a firm grasp.

"Michael, I want you to go the hospital and have that head wound seen to," she stated with finality, and tugged at his arm. "Come on, get in the ambulance."

Michael reluctantly got to his feet, but rather than immediately following his wife, he paused beside Fenton.

"Fenton…I – I just want to say – thanks," he said quietly. He looked back at the man lying on the gurney. "I never knew that bas— guy was so dangerous when I fired him. It's incredible how someone from 20 years in your past and a month ago in mine could have been the same person. We could have played 'who do you know?' after all, I guess." Ranson paused a moment, then finished: "Thanks for – for everything."

For just a moment, Mr. Hardy hesitated, then held out his hand. "You too, Michael. And I am very sorry you got shot during all this!"

"I asked for it," Ranson said with a wry grimace, shaking hands. "And I'll heal in no time. I think, though, that I'm going to take Erica on a long vacation – preferably one a long way from Bayport, if you don't mind!" He paused as a thought struck him. "I wonder how he managed the golf balls?" he murmured, glancing back at Keebler.

"Or dumping me into the bay? I suspect the golf balls was malfunctioning machinery, but we can't be sure. That," Fenton replied softly, "is something we may never know!" He smiled down at Erica. "Enjoy your vacation."

The Hardys watched as the Ransons ducked into the waiting ambulance, for transport to the hospital.

Fenton took a long breath and sighed deeply. He hugged Laura tightly for a long moment, then wrapped his arms about his sons. He was thankful that all of them had made it through this ordeal unscathed…and extraordinarily grateful that at last, the danger was over.


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann and Max2013.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 36

Frank felt himself re-living an action from a few days before on Monday, hugging his mother as he was preparing to leave for school. He held her tightly for an extra few moments, grateful that she was still safely with them – and that she was no longer in danger! The would-be kidnappers were now in jail, definitely unable to make another attempt on Laura or Erica Ranson.

Frank shuddered slightly. He didn't want to think about all the things that could have gone wrong the previous day, despite all the planning – too many things had gone awry as it was! The young police officer, Jeremy Isaacs, was in the hospital still, and would be for a couple more days; he'd lost more blood than originally thought. And Mr. Ranson, who had so narrowly escaped a bullet plowing straight into his head – he'd been stitched up and bandaged, and the ER physician had recommended he be admitted for observation. But Michael had steadfastly refused to stay overnight, and had been released – against the advice of both the doctor _and_ his young wife!

 _Well, we got the bad guys, when all's said and done_ , Frank mused. _But I wish Mom hadn't been in danger in the first place!_ He sighed as he released Laura. "Mom, I'll be back this afternoon – and I'll give you a call later this morning…just to make sure you're okay."

Laura laughed softly and patted his shoulder. "Honey, I'm fine – really. I still get the shivers occasionally, but I'll be all right. It's all over now – and I can take care of myself!"

"Besides," Fenton's deep voice interrupted the conversation as he entered the room carrying a cup of coffee, "I'm going to be home all day. I'm pretty sure—" His dark eyes twinkled, "that I can come up with something or other to take your mind off yesterday's occurrences, Laura." He raised an expressive eyebrow in his wife's direction, and she blushed pink.

Frank groaned, and followed that with a gagging sound. "Dad, that was definitely too much information! Give a thought to your children's delicate sensibilities, huh?" _Sheesh…they neck on the couch, they're always kissing in every room of the house, Dad goes around making suggestive remarks…are everyone's parents like this, or are Joe and I just…awfully lucky?_

After giving Laura one more heartfelt hug, and receiving an affectionate pat on the back from his father, Frank hefted his backpack to his shoulder and headed out to the Saturn.

"Morning, Nerd-boy."

Frank jumped at least six inches, and turned to glare at his brother, who was leaning against the open-hooded Aztek, evidently tinkering with something in the engine. Joe smiled sweetly at him, his eyes sparkling with wicked mischief.

"If you don't lay off the Nerd-boy comments, I'm going to bean you with my cast!" Frank threatened, "And I know exactly where you sleep at night!"

"Oooh, I'm shaking!" Joe held out his hands and shook them rapidly. "This is me, shivering! See how scared I am? I'm so scared…I won't be able to sleep at night, now…."

Frank looked down his nose at his brother. "Some people should learn proper respect for their elders," he remarked loftily.

"That's true," Joe said thoughtfully. "I should be more careful of the elderly, decrepit, almost-twenty-year-olds in my life. Yep, I should. I really should. Red would appreciate it, I know. I'll try to remember that when I'm around her."

Frank sighed. There was absolutely no justice in the world. "What are you doing up so early, anyway?"

"Oh – I just woke up. I wanted to check on something in the engine." Joe gestured vaguely at the Aztek. "And Vanessa's bringing donuts and coffee over…." He paused. "But…I just thought I'd stick around here a little while longer, that's all. You know?"

Blue eyes met brown as the brothers shared a knowing look and nodded at each other. Yesterday's events had affected them both.

"Dad's staying home," Frank commented. "Lurking around and being…" He paused and chuckled, shaking his head despite Joe's inquiring look. "Never mind. I've gotta get – class in twenty!" He threw his bag into the back seat of the Saturn. "Keep an eye out, Joe."

"I will." Joe grinned cheerfully. "You too, Nerd-boy."

Frank glowered, but by the time he had the Saturn started and was on his way, he was laughing too.

The chuckles died as he drove towards school. Inevitably, his thoughts were turning towards the other case, now, and the ever-growing stack of evidence against Kirk Moncrief. He'd found that incriminating backpack and sweatshirt in Kirk's car. Vanessa had managed to track down Corin, and although the young man had steadfastly declined to talk to the police, he had been quite willing to repeat what he had seen to HER, although he hadn't been able to add anything new. And what he had seen – and what Joe's new friend Jacklyn had seen – tallied with what Frank had found.

 _I'm glad that Joe and the girls agree that Kirk is a suspect and should be watched. It's not just a matter of me being jealous of him!_ He had _hoped_ that his suspicions were based on good detective instincts, and not just jealousy because Moncrief had been so eager to help Megan. Frank sighed, and shifted in his seat. In all honesty, those thoughts hit close to home. He WAS jealous.

It was hard not to be jealous about Megan – and yet, it was that sweet personality which made everyone like her, himself included, that had made for problems! But how could he fault other guys for being attracted? She was pretty...more than pretty, and warm, openly friendly to everyone, and truly interested in other people. How could he fault her for being herself? He couldn't – and neither could he blame people like Kirk Moncrief for liking her. _Hardy, you're an idiot…you want her to be_ _her_ _for_ _you_ _– and someone else to everyone else? If she did that, she wouldn't be Megan anymore!_

 _Ah, Megan, love…._ Frank smiled, thinking about her. She had looked so delighted, driving her new car home on Saturday. He was rather happy that it was _not_ red in color, for he was absolutely positive that Kirk Moncrief had given her that idea – although since she had said she wanted one, he had honestly tried very hard to help her find a nice red car within the budget her mother set. They had found four pleasing ones – in varying shades of scarlet, crimson, and tomato – but all of them were on the far upper end of that budget. And he knew that everyone concerned – he, Megan, and Carolyn – liked the sporty little Sunfire she'd ended up getting.

 _Even if I_ _do_ _feel like a sardine getting into it._ It was a striking shade of blue-green – or as Megan's insistent voice echoed in his mind, _'Perfect teal – not too blue, not too green!'_ And it was a great-looking car, too. Only three years old, and with surprisingly few miles on it. Even Joe, picky as he was, had admitted it was great. And Megan had been so thrilled to be regaining her independence.

Frank hadn't, however, missed the anxiety on his girlfriend's face when she'd decided to try a test-drive of the little machine. He'd known that she might flash back to the day of the crash when she first got behind the wheel again. Carolyn too, looked anxious – whether in fear for her daughter, or in empathy, Frank wasn't sure.

Megan had advanced from looking apprehensive to looking downright scared, as she sat in the driver's seat and made adjustments and fastened her seat belt. Seeing how her hands and lips were quivering, Frank had knelt down beside her, in the open door, and very quietly, given her a pep talk.

"Baby, listen to me. Everything's going to be all right. The streets aren't full of people with their brake lines cut who are likely to run into you, believe it or not, and this little beast is going to be a thrill to drive. You can do this – you're strong and brave and determined as all get-out, and you aren't going to let this scare you away." He kissed her cheek gently. "Now, go out there and show the world."

Megan had nodded, squared her shoulders, given him a brief smile, and started the engine. A few moments later, she had driven off with the sales rep. Frank, jittery despite all his encouraging words, had stood and waited with an equally nervous Carolyn, awaiting Megan's return and hoping that all was going well.

Fifteen minutes later, the little teal-blue Sunfire had returned to the lot, with a flushed, laughing, exuberantly happy Megan at the wheel. She hopped out of the car and hugged her mother and Frank. She'd driven it home an hour later, after they'd talked with the insurance company, President Mitchell, and filled out an astounding amount of paperwork. She was talking about namng it!

Yes, it suited her…and he was darned glad she had it. However, all things considered, Frank preferred his Saturn to cramming his long legs into that Sunfire!

###

Morning classes seemed almost to fly by. For the first time in too long, Frank had had a full night's sleep, and the difference it made was astonishing. He'd seen Megan during their shared history class, and she'd looked radiantly happy – as she did now, sitting at a table with Joe and Vanessa, having lunch.

Frank grabbed a sandwich and a carton of milk, and headed towards their table. "Hey, Baby!" He leaned down and kissed Megan hello – lingeringly – then sat down.

"Jeez, get a room!" Joe commented, grinning wickedly at them.

Frank faked a blow at his brother's head, then draped his arm about Megan's shoulders. "Ever heard the phrase 'practice what you preach?'" he inquired, noting that Joe himself had decided to lay an enthusiastic kiss on Vanessa.

Joe came up for air. "I'm merely following my elder sibling's sterling, shining example—"

"Just behave, already," Vanessa cut in, laughing. "Where are my French fries? You promised me French fries!"

Joe grumbled beneath his breath as he got to his feet. "Nag, nag, nag…." He ambled off to get Vanessa her fries and soft drink.

Frank grinned as he watched Joe standing in line, talking animatedly with a friend as he waited to get the fries…

…and the grin faded, as Frank saw Kirk Moncrief standing nearby, standing all alone, and watching everyone with narrowed eyes. Frank kept his gaze on Kirk until Joe returned to their table; then he looked at Joe, and Vanessa – and Megan.

"We didn't really have a chance to talk about it Saturday night, or yesterday," he began, "but you know I found that backpack we talked about, in the back of Kirk Moncrief's car. The brown suede one with the environmental logo stickers—"

He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Megan kindly reached into his backpack and retrieved it, saving him an awkward arm-twisting maneuver. She handed it to him, and he snapped it open. "Hello?"

" _Frankenstein, it's Dani."_ Dani Tanner's voice was warm on the other end. _"I just got some information on your case. Specifically, the Art building."_

Frank snapped to full alert. He sat up straighter, his attention riveted on his friend's voice. "What is it, Dani?"

" _The forensics team found fingerprints on the fire alarm,"_ Dani told him, excitement mounting in her voice.

Frank raised his eyebrows at that one. "They did?" Softly, he whispered to the others, "Fingerprints on the fire alarm!" Immediately, everyone's eyes fixed on him, as they waited for further news.

"Yeah, and even better – you're not going to believe this, Frank! But they ran them through a national database. And they matched them up – to one Kirk Moncrief!"

Frank nearly fell out of his chair. "You're KIDDING!"

" _Nope, no joke,"_ Dani affirmed. _"Listen, I've got to dash – Jack's picking me up in a few minutes – but I wanted to let you know what we found out. Call me later, Frankenstein! Bye!"_

"I will, Dani – have fun." Frank snapped his phone closed and stared around the table at the others – all of whom were anxiously watching him.

"Well?" Joe demanded eagerly.

"The investigators found fingerprints," Frank repeated, "on the fire alarm in the Art Building."

"And?" Vanessa pressed.

"They checked them against a national database." Frank wasn't consciously trying to drag it out, but he could scarcely believe it himself. "And they came up with a match. Kirk Moncrief."

Vanessa frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder what he did to get his fingerprints on file?"

"Protests or some such," Megan offered. Vanessa nodded, conceding the point.

Joe whooped as he smacked a fist into his palm. "Yeah! We've got him now – Let's reel him in!"


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 37

 _I can't believe I left campus without my backpack! First it gets left in the car after the accident, now I go off and leave it…._ Megan berated herself, sighing as she drove from her home to Bayport Community College once more. _It's a wonder I ever get any homework done, at this rate!_ Still, she was secretly rather pleased to have an excuse to drive her sporty little turquoise Sunfire some more. She patted the steering wheel affectionately as she parked and got out. _Sit…stay!_ she commanded it silently, and giggled to herself. _Frank would say I've been out in the sun too long, if he heard me doing that…._

She hurried across the campus to the building where she'd had her last class, crossing her fingers that this was, indeed where she had left the backpack – and that no enterprising student, teacher, or janitor had picked it up yet! It would be a major pain to try and get it back, if some well-meaning soul had done so! Ascending to the classroom, she was relieved to see it was empty. She had worried that there might be a class going on, which would have meant she'd have to wait until it was over – but the room was blissfully free of other people. And a second bit of luck, no one had come by to lock it for the night! _Maybe there's another class here this evening._ Slipping into the deserted classroom, Megan spotted her purple backpack sitting near her usual seat by the window. She retrieved it, and exited the room, pulling her cell phone from its pocket as she did so.

"Frank, it's me," she announced, smiling as she heard his _'Hey, baby, how are you?'_ in return. "I'm fine; I'm back at school." Megan paced slowly down the hallway towards the stairs, phone clamped to her ear as she walked.

" _Why are you back there?"_ Frank sounded puzzled, as indeed he might.

"Because I've only got about half my brain cells working; I went off and left my backpack in class," she responded, laughing. "I got shanghaied by Kristen Forbes and Merise Kincaid right after class – they wanted to see my new car. And I was so happy to oblige them, I forgot about picking up my backpack. I was all the way home before I realized I didn't have it!"

Frank chuckled. _"You weren't driving without your license, were you?"_ he chided jokingly, trying without much success to sound severe.

"Nope!" she answered triumphantly. "It was in the car, in that cute little pocket in the console."

As they spoke, Megan could imagine Frank sitting in the office at Wayne's World, leaning back in the chair, his feet propped up on the desk; a pose that she'd seen him in more than once when she'd visited him at work. She smiled fondly as she pictured him there. "What are you doing tonight?" she murmured, hoping he'd suggest getting together.

" _I'm about to get off work – my last day here for two weeks. Since I'm getting this dratted cast off tomorrow, I'm supposed to take the next couple of weeks off. The doctor warned me that my arm is going to be almost more useless than it is_ _now_ _, until I get some serious physical therapy behind me."_ Frank sighed, but then his tone brightened again. _"But I'm so glad to get it off, I don't care. Having the weight gone…you can't imagine how good that'll feel. I'll feel like things are getting back to normal, once it's off. And…"_ he dropped his voice significantly, _"I'll be able to hold you with_ _both_ _arms again!"_

Megan's laughter rippled softly. "That sounds very nice," she said demurely. "I feel good too," she continued happily. "Everything's almost healed – and I have a new car!"

" _When I get off work, how about if I come back by campus and we can go for a ride in that new car?"_ Frank proposed. _"If you don't mind dropping me off back at the school when we're done, that is. Do you have studying you need to do? I've already finished up my stuff; I have lots of spare time here."_

"I have a little, but if you could get here fairly soon, I'd love to go for a drive with you," she answered. "It sounds like fun!" _In fact, it sounds like a_ _very_ _nice idea,_ her thoughts ran simultaneously with her conversation. _We could go out the Shore Road and park on the bluffs overlooking the Bay for awhile_ ….

" _Good, I'll come by campus as soon as I'm done here,"_ Frank said. _"Can you hang for about half an hour?"_

"Sure – it's nice out. I'll just sit on a bench and start studying while I'm waiting," Megan assured him. "See you in 30."

" _I love you, Baby…."_ Frank sounded almost wistful.

"I love you too," she murmured, and hung up.

The autumn evening was almost spectacularly lovely. Megan found a convenient bench in the level rays of the setting sun, and sat down. _If it wasn't for the marred, blackened buildings visible from here, the view would be lovely too,_ she thought, shaking her head ruefully. She checked her watch – approaching 6:00, she noted. Frank would probably get off work then. It would be starting to get dark by seven. _Oh well, even better for parking on the bluffs!_

Megan had just pulled her Music Appreciation book from her backpack when she glanced across the street, and froze stiff in her seat…

…a stocky figure dressed in unremarkable clothing was striding purposefully across the campus, a brown leather-like backpack on his back. Megan stared, dry-mouthed at the sight of the symbols on that backpack, and at the logo she glimpsed on the green sweatshirt he wore. The young man glanced from side to side as he strode along – and Megan felt a thrill of fear go through her.

Kirk Moncrief was looking directly into her eyes!

#####

 _Tonight's the night…have to act again tonight._ Kirk Moncrief leaned back in his car seat, and rubbed his eyes wearily as he thought about his plans for the evening. He'd worked long and hard on those plans. His uncle was weakening in his stance, Kirk was sure of it. Or if he wasn't, he might soon be replaced anyway. One more burning – one more structure up in flames – and he'd give Kirk what he wanted – or get fired. _Fired!_ Kirk laughed mirthlessly as the black humor of the pun struck him. A new college president would change things, so that the Adirondack Project would be approved, surely! All he'd have to do was ask – make the request. They couldn't all be as pigheaded as Uncle Charles, could they?

The Adirondack Project – it was his mission in life to see that it got approved and used, Kirk realized. If he didn't, what would happen to the animals? He had to save them – save them from a lifetime of torture and degradation! He'd tried other ways – he'd tried working with the A.S.P.C.A., to make changes in the animal-rights laws – but they were too slow! Lobbying – sending letters – it didn't work the way he wanted. It wasn't fast enough.

 _The Adirondack will protect them! They'll be safe, then._ For it was a revolutionary new way of using plants for experimentation, instead of animals. Granted, plants were different, but… _but it will work, I'm sure of it! Those test results were wrong – they just didn't try it enough times! And Uncle Charles and the rest of the college higher-ups – they're just greedy!_ They'd siphon off the money from the project budget into other areas that interested them more. _Athletics! Art! Hah!_ They didn't care.

Kirk got out of his car and opened the hatchback, taking out the backpack and sweatshirt which rested within. He opened the backpack, quickly checking to make sure he had everything he needed. _Paper…_ he chuckled a little, seeing the stacks of Students For Earth fliers he'd gathered up… _scraps of wood…wooden matches,_ the kind that didn't burn out quite so fast as book matches…his ball of shoelaces, there for luck, although you never could tell when something like that might come in handy. Yes, everything was there. _I'll have to be careful, tonight – don't want to set myself on fire!_ But that was okay, he was always careful about setting the fires. He always made sure no one got hurt, himself included. That's why he'd pulled the fire alarm before he left the Art Building.

There's something so nice and simple about fires. Powerful, too. Fires are so easy…you just have to be careful, that's all.

And Kirk was always careful.

He grinned, seeing that ball of shoestrings. He'd collected quite a few, over time. He was always saving the shoelaces from worn-out sneakers, or other shoes. At first just his own, but now people in his apartment building who knew about it – they sometimes gave him some. And people on campus who were his friends or acquaintances, too. It was a harmless hobby, it was recycling, and after all, you never knew when you might want something tied up! Plants…a lost dog running loose…there was always a use for old shoestrings.

Kirk slipped the green sweatshirt on, and hefted his backpack into place, then closed the trunk. He looked around cautiously. He didn't want to draw undue attention to himself. He didn't want people to pay any attention to what he was doing, or where he was going _. I've got to make this look natural – can't let people see what I'm doing. Can't be caught…I've got to accomplish the mission!_

Sedately, Kirk paced across the campus toward his goal. It stood taller than many of the buildings on campus. Very visible – and very attainable. It was rock-covered on the bottom, but the top – the top would burn. It would make a beautiful bonfire – a symbol, blazing in the night! Yes, that would be the best thing. And everyone who saw it would see it, and know – and Uncle Charles would know too!

Kirk kept on walking, across the street and down the sidewalk which led to his objective. As he did so, he looked around a little – and to his surprise, he caught sight of a very familiar face and figure. _Megan!_ The pretty little redhead from his classes. She was sitting on a bench, that shocking purple backpack beside her, holding a book. Kirk felt his shoulders slump. He had thought she was so nice…well, she _was_ nice – but she was taken; she hung around with that Hardy creep! The one who was supposed to be the hotshot detective, him and his brother. Kirk started to turn away, but he couldn't resist looking in her direction again.

He winced as his eyes met hers, and he turned swiftly and walked away, moving faster.

 _I'm not going to let anyone stop me! Not anyone! Not the cops – not my uncle. Not the Hardys. Not even Megan Wright! I'll do whatever it takes to accomplish my mission._

 _Anything._


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 38

Megan's mouth was dry as sandpaper as she watched Kirk speed away from her, down the path. She sat there on her bench for a moment, indecisive about what to do. _Should I get up and follow him? Try to talk to him? He looked so…guilty. I'm sure he's up to something. But should I wait for Frank to get here, before we follow him?_

 _But what if he starts another fire, before Frank comes?_ Nervously, Megan checked her watch. It would be at least another 25 minutes before Frank could be expected to arrive. Megan felt butterflies forming in her stomach at the thought of confronting Kirk Moncrief. Once, she'd thought he was a nice guy, if a trifle odd – until that day when she'd talked to him – questioned him – and discovered just how 'off' he was, on certain subjects! She wasn't at all wild about going after him and talking to him again – _but I'll do it if I have to!_

 _And yeah…_ She sighed and shivered _. I have to. At least, I have to follow him and see what he's up to. But I'll wait a little bit, let him get further away, so he doesn't realize that I'm following him._ She watched him hurry away.

And now she knew where he was going, or she thought she did. The Bell Tower. It had to be the Bell Tower, she thought, seeing him head purposefully toward the tall edifice in front of the auditorium. It was a beautiful structure, rock-covered for the first twenty feet, then another twenty that was built of one-by-ones and two-by-twos, with open spaces in between. You could see the bells through the openings. While they were actually triggered electronically, they really did ring – beautiful chimes at eight a.m., noon, and six p.m. And, she remembered, at Christmas time last year, they had played carols! As if to echo her thought, the sweet sound of the chimes echoed across the quiet campus. Six o'clock.

Megan took a deep breath, screwing up her courage from somewhere deep within, and got to her feet. She shouldered her backpack and resolutely set out after Kirk. She walked deliberately, with determination, trying to act as if she had somewhere else to go...somewhere that wasn't the bell tower. She was thankful that the auditorium was on the same path that led to the campus library. _Hopefully, Kirk will think I'm going to the library!_ she thought. She saw him in the distance, stopping at one point to look around again. Then, he passed the Bell Tower, turned, and disappeared behind the structure. She remembered that there was a ladder on one side, for people to climb up for maintenance. _He must be going up the ladder…._

She stopped for a moment, breathless with tension. She wasn't at all sure she should follow Kirk Moncrief up onto the tower. After a moment's thought, Megan pulled her cell phone from her backpack and dialed Frank's cell number.

 _Darn!_ She frowned, hearing the recorded message: _"Hi, this is Frank. I'm not available right now; please leave a message at the beep, and I'll get back to you."_ Scowling with frustration, she stopped the call without leaving a message, and dialed Wayne's World. Maybe Frank hadn't left yet!

" _Wayne's World Air Charter Service, this is Jack Wayne, can I help you?"_ The oft-repeated spiel rolled effortlessly from Jack's lips.

"Jack? It's Megan. I'm sorry to call Frank on this line, but I was wondering if I could talk to him a minute. I tried his cell, but I can't get through, and it's really important!"

" _Hi there! I'm sorry, but Frank just left for the day – about two minutes ago! He said he was going to meet you. Just me and Dani here, right now,"_ Jack told her cheerfully _. "Are you okay? Is everything all right?"_ he added, with some concern.

"I'm – not sure, Jack." Megan hesitated. "But I'm a little worried about something. I'm on campus. I was watching Kirk Moncrief, and I think he's gone up the Bell Tower here. I followed him….I think he may be up to something – he's carrying the backpack he had the night of the fire at the Art building, and he's got on that same sweatshirt. I think he may be going to set another fire, and I'm not sure what to do. I could try to stop him – what if he does something before Frank gets here?"

" _Good Lord, Megan, you stay away from there!"_ Jack yelped. _"That guy's unstable; there's no telling what he might do if someone interrupts him!"_

"He hasn't hurt anyone so far," Megan argued. "I don't think he'd try to hurt me. And maybe I can stop him, Jack!"

" _Megan, don't! Don't you do it!"_ Jack repeated vehemently. _"At least, wait for Frank to get there!"_

"I'm not sure what I'm going to do." Megan purposefully kept her words vague, for inside she was already making her plans. _I'd better try climbing up there and see if I can stop him….I'm scared, yes…but Kirk wouldn't hurt me, would he? I'm sure he wouldn't hurt me…._ "I don't think I can wait for Frank to come, Jack," she went on, aloud. "I've got to go now."

" _Megan?"_ It was Dani's voice on the phone now. _"Hang tight; we're on our way. We'll be there in twenty – maybe fifteen!"_ and then came the sound of the receiver being slammed into the cradle.

Megan shook her head. Fifteen or twenty wasn't soon enough. She stared at the carillon tower, and then decided to try Frank's cell number once more, before she did anything else. She hit speed-dial, and her relief was palpable when she heard him answer – he must have just dropped out of coverage for a minute or two!

" _Hello? Megan?"_ Evidently Frank had looked at the readout.

"Yes, it's me. I'm so glad to have caught you! Frank – something's going on, here at school. Listen: Kirk's on campus, and he's gone up the Bell Tower, and I'm afraid he's going to burn it down!"

" _That sonofa…"_ Frank let his words die off into an unintelligible mutter, and Megan relaxed slightly, smiling.

"Should I try to stop him? I could go up after him – talk to him, maybe—"

" _Try to_ _stop_ _him!"_ Frank shouted, _"No way, Baby! No way should you go up there! He's crazy, Megan, don't you realize that? He's totally insane! What if he did something to you?"_ _Oh God, she didn't just say that, did she? If something happened to her, I couldn't stand it!_

"Frank, he's never tried to hurt me before," Megan said patiently. "He likes me, remember?" She heard Frank's quickly-indrawn breath at that comment, and forged ahead. "Maybe I'm the only person who can talk him out of burning the bell tower down, Frank!"

" _Megan, wait. Just wait, okay? I'll be there in less than fifteen minutes – maybe ten. I'll make record time, I promise – and I'll call the police department and the fire department, in case Kirk_ _does_ _start a fire."_

"That may not be necessary," she told him. "I talked to Jack and Dani, when I was trying to reach you. Dani's coming – maybe she's already contacted the fire department." _I hope she did, anyway!_

" _Megan, you're not going to follow him, are you? Please don't. Don't go up that tower—"_ Frank was practically begging, his voice shaking with earnestness. _"Baby, find a campus security guard, or something – can't you do that? You mustn't follow him—"_

"There aren't any security guards around, Frank. I can't just sit here and wait while he might be torching the tower," Megan said calmly, although her heart fluttered hard in her chest. "I promise I'll be careful – but I am going up. If I can stop him, it's worth the risk. I love you, darling…." Gulping a little, she pressed the button to end the call, and returned her phone to its pocket in her backpack.

Slowly, determinedly, Megan walked across the grass to the bottom of the carillon tower. She moved around to the back side, where Kirk had disappeared. Yes, there was the ladder. She took off her backpack, and set it down nearby.

She swallowed hard. Although she was not especially frightened of heights, still, it was a long way up, with nothing at all to cushion a fall to the concrete. Very slowly and carefully, Megan put one foot on the first rung, and began to climb. She was very careful not to look down.

As she moved higher, she could hear something above – soft mutterings. Kirk's voice, evidently talking quietly to himself. Nervously, she wondered again if she was doing the right thing. All things considered, she wasn't at all sure she was safe up here. _But I've got to do something! And maybe Kirk will listen to me!_

At last she gained the midway point, where the solid platform was. Megan popped her head over the edge and took a look around. There was a 15-by-15-foot square, surrounded by the wood lattice, and above hung the massive bells. And there was Kirk. His back was turned to her, and he was industriously spreading crumpled paper around the edges of the platform next to the wooden bars, and adding small bits of wood to the piles.

"Kirk, what are you doing?" she asked quietly, at last.

Kirk jumped and whirled to face her. "Megan! What are you doing here?" He watched as she pulled herself off the ladder and onto the platform. She could see a strange light in his eyes as he looked at her, just for a moment. Then he sighed and shook his head. "You shouldn't have come here."

"But I had to." Megan took a step towards him, her hand extended. "Kirk, you need to stop this. What if you hurt someone?"

"That doesn't matter anymore," he muttered. "I have to do this. It's important. I'm doing the right thing. I have to get Uncle Charles and the others to listen to me! That project could save millions of animals – it could save people, too! But Uncle Charles wouldn't listen. He's greedy. I'll do anything it takes, to get him to understand."

Megan swallowed. He sounded crazy now, she had to admit it. Dangerously crazy. But she had to try – maybe she could get through to him yet. Slowly, she took another step. _On the other hand, maybe I'm the insane one_ , she admitted to herself. _Coming up here by myself, with no one to back me up, was insanity!_ "Kirk, maybe there's a better way to convince them," she suggested gently. "You just have to give it a little more time. Maybe there's some data that hasn't been presented yet, or something. Maybe you could try talking to people about modifying the project, to improve the test results." Frantically, she tried to think of arguments that might sway Kirk from his intentions. "Doing this isn't going to help your case, you know. Burning down the campus buildings won't make them reconsider the Adirondack Project. Nobody is going to listen to you if you're acting crazy—" _Oops! Bad move!_

"I'm NOT crazy!" Kirk shouted furiously, advancing towards her with his fists tightly clenched. "I'm the only sane one around here! I'm the only one who cares! Everyone else is so enamored with sports, and the arts, and campus politics and bureaucracies…."

Frightened in earnest now, Megan scrambled back towards the ladder, but Kirk lunged at her, and grabbed her arm in a tight grip.

"Let me go, Kirk! Let me go right now!" Although she was trying to sound authoritative, Megan heard her voice tremble.

He shook his head. "No – I can't. You know too much now….I'm sorry you got hurt because of my uncle," he muttered. "He wasn't supposed to hit anyone when his brakes went out, he was just supposed to get roughed up some, and scared. Or, actually, I didn't care if it killed him. I didn't expect it to take so long for them to go out. I didn't ever want to hurt you, not ever."

Megan's aqua eyes flashed fire. "YOU were the one who cut the brake line?" she gasped. "It was because of you that my car was hit?" She was not only frightened now, she was furious! She jerked her arm free and scowled at him, outraged.

"I didn't mean for it to happen! I never in the world wanted you to get hurt!" he snapped defensively. He paused, and the familiar sardonic smirk crossed his features. "I did mean for the Hardy kid's car to get smashed, though!"

"'The Hardy kid's car'…you mean, you had something to do with Joe's accident, too?"

"Yeah—" Kirk's crooked grin widened. "I happened to be over by Uncle Charles' place and I saw him leave. There was a car sitting parked with the keys in it – so I borrowed it for a little while. Thought I'd throw a scare into him – damned football jock! I'll bet he thought it was a real gun, huh?" He stepped nearer, reaching into his pocket and removing a handkerchief. The smile faded, and his face went grim. "That's enough talk. Now it's time."

Megan tried to scream, tried to retreat - but Kirk was too swift for her, and there was nowhere to escape. He seized her again, in that unyielding grip, and pulled her close, pressing the handkerchief firmly over her mouth and nose. Megan winced and whimpered as he hurt her broken nose, and struggled – trying to break that surprisingly strong grip. She stared at him, eyes wide with terror, as he began to make soft apologies.

"I'm sorry – I never wanted anyone to get hurt, Meggie," he murmured, increasing the pressure against her face. "You should have stayed away."

 _Meggie! You can't call me that! Only Mom and Dad did – and now Vanessa! Because she's my friend. You aren't my friend, you can't call me that…_. Megan twisted helplessly in his grasp.

"I especially never wanted you to be hurt – I liked you a lot. I've liked you ever since last year. But you never even knew I existed – and it's too late now. I can't stop. I have to do this – this is my mission, you know. What I'm doing is more important than one person, no matter who….Relax, Megan, it will all be over soon…."

She couldn't get any air in – her chest hurt, and dark spots were beginning to circle through her vision.

"I'm sorry, Megan," Kirk whispered in her ear. "I'm sorry. But nobody can get in my way now. Nobody. I'm sorry…."

And as the world spun out of control, and the darkness closed in, Megan heard his voice once more, saying softly:

"Goodbye…."


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, Max2013, and BMSH for reviewing.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 39

 _No, no, no, no…._ Frank kept muttering it to himself as he drove, the words pounding through his mind. He was hoping and praying that Megan wouldn't do anything rash, that she'd stayed down off that bell tower, that she hadn't tried to confront Kirk! _She can't have tried to stop him, she's got to stay safe…No, no, no….Oh God, please, I can't stand it if anything happens to her! I'll go crazy. I was insane enough when she was in the wreck…when she was kidnapped…._

 _NO!_

But an icy fist was forming in his stomach as he drove recklessly into the campus of Bayport Community College, and headed along the paved road towards the auditorium and the bell tower. He squealed to a stop in the circular drive. Throwing open the car door, heedless of his aching, imprisoned left arm, Frank lunged out of the Saturn and raced towards the tower.

She wasn't there. Megan wasn't there.

"Megan! MEGAN!" Frank stood at the bottom of the ladder to the carillon tower, shrieking her name at the top of his lungs. He knew she'd gone up – her purple backpack lay discarded nearby, mute evidence that she _had_ been there. And she'd _said_ she was going to follow Kirk – going to ascend the tower…. _She should never have gone after him!_ "MEGAN!"

No answer. Silence, broken only by a few placid bird calls, and the usual traffic sounds. And then – what was that noise coming from above? A scuffling, scraping sound….

"MEGAN! Are you there? Answer me!"

Silence again.

Frank grasped the side of the ladder with his right hand, and stepped onto the first rung. Unable to grip the other side, and thrown off-balance by his cast and sling, Frank swayed outward before he could try ascending. He made a futile grab at the ladder with his left hand, missed, and dropped back to the ground, swearing helplessly.

"Damned cast! Damn it!" Frank pulled his sling off, then seized the edge of the cast with his fingers and yanked hard, hoping he could loosen it, break it, tear it off – SOMETHING! Desperately, he clawed at it, tried smacking it against the ladder in hopes of breaking the plaster – and only succeeded in causing pain to shoot from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder. "OUCH!" He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily. Obviously, this wasn't working.

"All right, I'll just manage to climb it one-handed," he gritted. Again, he grasped the side of the ladder and mounted the first rung. Clinging like a leech with his right hand, Frank managed to haul himself up another rung, then halted, stymied. How could be move his hand? Tentatively, he stretched the fingers of his left hand to hold the rung nearest, but could only manage a feeble, insecure grip. Still, it was better than nothing. He slid his right hand up slowly, not daring to completely let go.

It worked…sort of. Holding tightly with his right hand, Frank drew up first one foot, then the other, and moved higher. _This is too slow!_ Inch by frustratingly slow inch, Frank moved upwards – aware that precious seconds were ticking by, and who knew what might be happening to Megan while he snail-paced his way up?

He had gone perhaps ten feet up when a sudden scrabbling, slithering sound above him alerted him to the presence of another person on the ladder. Frank tilted his head backwards to see who was descending, and was suddenly hit by a body hurtling into him from above! Torn roughly from the ladder, the Hardy boy fell to the ground, landing with an impact that drove all the breath from his body, and sent pain coursing through him. Momentarily stunned, Frank lay still; darkness temporarily overwhelmed him.

"Stupid idiot!" Kirk Moncrief skidded the last few feet down the ladder, and leaped over the inert form lying on the ground. He started off, then suddenly wheeled about and stared at Frank thoughtfully. "Can't let you go up and find her," he muttered. He shrugged out of the backpack momentarily, and unzipped it, pulling a couple of sneaker laces from the main pocket.

Kirk then stooped and tugged Frank's body the few feet to the very bottom of the carillon tower, where he propped him into a sitting position, and proceeded to use the shoelaces to lash his hands and feet tightly. "That ought to slow you down – maybe you'll just go with the tower too!" Without a backward glance, he grabbed his backpack, and ran down the sidewalk as fast as he could go. Far above, curling tendrils of smoke began to rise into the air, and a soft crackling sound could be heard.

#####

"I'm telling you, he's up to something tonight!" Dave Wahlstrom said urgently. He had found Joe after football practice, and had lain in wait for him outside the locker room at Bayport High, where practice had been held. Joe – while changing out of his practice clothes and trying to clean up a little – had been listening to him say the same things over and over and over again, for the last 15 minutes.

Joe was tired, he was sore, and he was once again exasperated with his football team. Sure, they'd managed to squeak out a win the other day, despite all the predictions of failure – including his own! – but today, it had all seemed like the incredible fluke it probably was. Dropped passes, missed assignments – and somehow, _he_ always seemed to be the one on the bottom of the pile! _First game won…and it'll be the last one we win, too!_ he thought glumly.

 _Stop being so cynical, Joe!_ He could hear Vanessa's voice in his mind, chiding him. He smiled, thinking of her – what wasn't to smile about, after all? Maybe he _was_ too cynical. They had beaten Lutheran Heart, against all predictions and odds, and maybe they'd either get lucky again, or….

"Joe, are you listening to me?" Dave joggled his arm.

"Yeah, yeah, sure I'm listening, Dave," Joe sighed. "I'm just tired. I'm sorry. Tell me again – what do you think is going on, and why do you think it's going on?"

Dave eyed him dubiously, apparently unsure of Joe's attention. "Well," he began to explain, "I'd gone down to the meeting room in Arbuthnot. I mean, I was going there…but when I started in, I saw Kirk Moncrief. So I sort of dodged back before he saw me – and then I peeked around the corner of the door and watched him."

Joe nodded encouragingly, listening intently now.

"He was alone in there – and he was doing something funny," Dave said earnestly. "Funny-odd, not funny-ha-ha. He was gathering up stacks of the informational fliers and posters, and stuffing them into his backpack."

"You don't think he was going to put them up, or hand them out?" Joe queried.

"No." Dave shook his head. "Kirk NEVER hands out fliers or posts them! He says they're not effective….And anyway, he was just stuffing them in – not trying to keep them nice; he was crumpling 'em. So Joe, he couldn't be going to put them up anywhere. He must have taken them for some other reason…." Dave's voice trailed off, and he stared at Joe anxiously. "I tried to call you, and when I found out you were at football practice over here, I came right over. Maybe I should have followed him, instead, huh? I don't know what Kirk might be planning to do, but it's been over an hour now since I saw him…he's had plenty of time—"

"Okay, okay, take a breath, Dave." Joe held up his hands in a shushing gesture. "All right. Let's check it out. I'll go with you back to campus, just in case that jerk is up to something. If we could catch him in the act, then the case would be closed. Over and out. Done."

"All right!" Dave grinned in relief, and Joe grinned back. They exchanged high-fives, and raced towards the parking lot and Joe's Aztek.

"I'll drop you back here later, to pick up your car," Joe yelled, thumbing his key fob to unlock the vehicle. He yanked open the door and tossed his athletic bag into the back seat.

"Don't have to – I got dropped here earlier," Dave responded as he jumped into the passenger seat. "My car's kaput."

"In that case, I'll take you home, after," Joe offered, and started the engine. "Of course, Kirk might not be planning on doing anything tonight, you know," he cautioned. "He might just be preparing ahead, for some other time."

"No, I know that." Dave shook his head as he clicked his seat belt. "But I still have this feeling that something's going to happen tonight, Joe! It's just a feeling, but….Where do you think we should look for him?"

"I'll decide when we get there," Joe muttered. He shoved the car in gear, and stamped on the accelerator. Dave gulped, and braced a hand against the dashboard; Joe flicked his eyes sideways at him, and grinned to himself as they tore out of Bayport High's parking lot, burning rubber all the way. _Just like the old days…!_

###

They arrived at the community college campus in what Dave was positive was a new record, time-wise. As Joe turned into the main drive, Dave eased his tight grip on the edge of his seat and turned a decidedly pale face towards the younger Hardy.

"Ever think of taking up driving NASCAR, Joe?" he inquired feebly.

Joe snorted inelegantly. "We got here, didn't we?" He stopped the car in the nearest parking space on the street, switched off the motor and cocked his head, listening. "Hey, I hear sirens!"

Dave opened his door and half-stood, looking around. "Over there!" he cried, pointing. "Look! Smoke – the auditorium? No, wait – it's the bell tower!"

"Okay, I'm convinced!" Joe leaped from his seat and slammed the car door. "Come on!"


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 40

Jack Wayne and Dani Tanner raced headlong across the Bayport Community College campus, heading for the carillon tower, both silently praying that they would arrive in time. Neither one was that familiar with the campus layout, but the carillon was visible ahead – unfortunately, trees and buildings kept intruding in their way!

Finally, a clear path opened ahead, and Dani gave a cry as she saw a figure lying beside the structure. "Jack, look! Someone's at the bottom of the tower!"

"I see…" came the grim, panting reply.

They pounded up to the tower, and Dani let out another shout.

"It's Frank – and he's been tied here!"

Jack had his knife out of his pocket in an instant, and slashed the laces which bound the elder Hardy, who was struggling futilely to free himself. "Frank! You okay? What happened, buddy?"

"Jack! Dani!" Frank clutched at Jack's arm. "It's Megan! I think she's up on the tower! She followed Kirk up there – and I couldn't climb it…" Desperate frustration colored Frank's voice. "K-Kirk knocked me off the ladder…I think he started a fire…." Frank struggled to stand. "We've got to get up there!"

Dani restrained him gently. "We'll go, Frankenstein. You stay here; you're in no shape to try and climb up there. We'll get her, don't worry." She sprang upright. "Come on, flyboy!"

Leaving Frank at the bottom of the ladder, shaken and distraught, Jack and Dani ascended the rungs as rapidly as they could, with Dani in the lead. As she scrambled out onto the carillon's platform beneath the cascade of bells, Dani was suddenly enveloped in a thick cloud of choking white smoke! _Frank was right about the fire!_ Coughing, she pulled her shirt tail across her face, and called down to Jack, "If you've got a handkerchief, cover your nose and mouth – we've got a fire here!" She yanked her two-way radio from her belt, and punched buttons. "This is Tanner, Squad 45 – there's another fire at the Bayport Community College – bell tower. Possible injuries….right!"

Now Jack was beside her. "Where's Megan?" he gasped, between coughs, trying to peer through the billows of smoke. "Do you see her anywhere?"

Dani shook her head. "Stay here and guide me back," she instructed him, and crouched down in the undulating mass of smoke, crawling across the platform. "Keep talking to me, Jack," she tossed back over her shoulder.

Jack duly kept talking, repeating phrases again and again between bouts of coughing. "I'm here, Dani….This way to the exit….I'm over here….Dani, you can hear me, can't you?" He could hear her calling Megan's name in a breathless, choked voice, moving about on the platform. There were flames visible in the smoke now, licking hungrily at the wooden tower.

And then Dani let out a cry: "I've found her – my God, she's tied up! That creep tied and gagged her!"

"Do you need help?" .

"No, just keep yelling to guide me," she returned hoarsely.

Jack increased the volume of his shouts, guiding her back, and in a few moments, Dani reappeared through the smoke, crouched low and dragging a limp form after her.

"She's alive?" Jack queried fearfully.

"Yes, but totally unconscious. Quick, let's get her out of this smoke," Dani commanded, tugging Megan to the ladder. "Go down ahead of me; this is what I'm trained for, remember? And hurry, the fire's starting to take hold fast!"

The two worked their way down the ladder, Dani holding Megan across one shoulder, Jack staying just below them, ready to catch her if necessary. There was no time for Jack to ask if the girl was hurt as well as stunned by smoke, all of his concentration was focused on getting down, rung by rung. In the far distance, sirens wailed, drawing ever nearer. Finally, Jack felt his feet hit concrete, and then a hand – Frank's – seized him.

"Is she alive? Is she hurt?" Frank demanded, his voice just this side of hysteria. "Jack, tell me she's all right!"

"Hang on, Frank – Dani, I'm down, let me take her." Carefully, Jack gathered Megan into his arms and walked out of the tower's shadow, onto the grass. Very gently, he laid her down, then again pulled his knife out.

"She's – oh my God, he TIED her? He TIED HER THERE?" Frank threw himself down beside Megan, tears in his eyes. Dani gently pulled him aside, and leaned over Megan, removing the gag, checking her breathing. Jack sliced through the long shoelaces which bound her.

"She's alive, Frankenstein, and I don't think she's injured," Dani murmured, "but she took in a lot of smoke – enough to knock her out, evidently. She needs oxygen." She raised her head and listened. "There are the fire crews," she said, and her words were abruptly drowned out by the sirens' shrieks. In what seemed like mere seconds, the trucks roared up, and firefighters spilled out and swung into action. "Ellie! Paul! We're got a smoke inhalation victim here!"

Frank stood back unwillingly, Jack's arm securely about his shoulders, watching as the paramedics strapped an oxygen mask over Megan's face. "Her nose! She has a broken nose!" he suddenly cried, remembering, and watched with grateful appreciation as they carefully adjusted the mask so as to relieve any pressure. The medics continued to examine Megan; once they seemed assured that she was relatively uninjured, they lifted her to a stretcher, preparing to move her to the waiting ambulance.

"She's doing fine." The reassuring words poured over Frank's anguished soul like warm, soothing honey. He sagged against Jack, exhaling a deep sigh of relief as the medic continued: "She's breathing okay, and all her vitals are good. We're going to transport, but there's no great rush. We'd really like her to wake up, though…." He smiled at Frank. "Talk to her?" he suggested.

Frank pulled away from Jack's encircling arm, and knelt beside the stretcher. He gazed down at Megan's pale face with mingled love and trepidation. "Megan? Baby?"

"Megan sweetie, wake up." Dani was there too, squatting beside him, speaking in her low, rich voice. "Come on sweetie, open your eyes."

As Frank watched, he saw those incredible eyelashes flutter and lift…flutter and lift…flutter and…slowly lift once more and stay lifted. Megan looked upwards, but her gaze was blank; she didn't seem to realize he was there.

"Megan?" Dani again.

"Baby?" Frank barely whispered the word.

With anguished slowness, the blue-green eyes tracked, following the voices. She blinked again, and focused on Frank's face. Her lips moved, forming a single syllable. "Frank?"

"I'm here, baby." He took her hand in his good one. "I'm here. How do you feel?"

She shifted her gaze minutely, then squeezed her eyes shut. "My eyes hurt," she murmured fretfully, and coughed. "And my throat, too." She raised a questioning hand to her face. "What's on…my face?"

"Leave it, honey," Dani advised. "It's for oxygen; you need it right now. And your eyes and throat hurt because of the smoke.".

But Megan pushed petulantly at the mask. "Want to…talk." Her eyelids lifted again. "Dani….you got here." Megan tried to smile. "I…feel like…I'm in a bad movie sequel. Been here – done this…." She gazed up at Frank. "Last time…it was you got knocked out."

Jack leaned over Dani's shoulder. "Hey, sweetie, how ya doin'?"

"Okay – I guess." A little more aware of her surroundings now, Megan's eyes fastened on the billowing smoke above them. Fear suddenly clouded her face. "Kirk – he tried to smother…said he was sorry to kill me, but I wasn't going…to stop him…" Abruptly, she sought Frank's face again. "Oh, Frank—" She was shaking now, and tears filled her eyes.

Frank was so furiously appalled at what Kirk Moncrief had done to Megan, he couldn't speak for a moment, but he managed to stroke her hair gently in a gesture of comfort. Finally he controlled his voice: "S'okay, Baby, you're safe now. It's okay."

"I'm…sorry," she whispered huskily, and coughed. "I really thought I could stop him…."

"You were one very brave and very foolish girl," Dani scolded. "You never should have gone up there with him!"

"Know that…now. But I thought I could….Sorry – just caused…trouble." The tears spilled, and Dani, immediately contrite, hastened to blot them from Megan's cheeks.

"No, sweetie, no way," the older girl murmured. "Frank, don't glare at me like that!"

"You're making her feel bad!" he accused, scowling.

Megan opened her eyes and essayed a watery smile. "Don't yell at her," she whispered. "She's right. It wasn't very smart…."

"Megan, listen," Dani said gently. "You didn't stop him, but you sure-enough slowed him down, and you alerted us. That tower's not going to burn – thanks to you." She glanced upward. "They've already got the fire out, I think." Smiling down at Megan, she added, "Now – put that oxygen mask back on!"

A flurry of footsteps came out of the dusk, and Joe and Dave Wahlstrom thundered up, panting.

"What happened?" Joe demanded, looking around wildly at the tumultuous scene: firefighters, medics, Megan on a stretcher, Frank looking ghastly; Jack Wayne and Dani Tanner hovering with concern.

"Kirk Moncrief," Frank snapped. "He tried to suffocate Megan, tied her up on the tower and then set it on fire."

"WHAT?" Outrage and anxiety nearly choked the younger Hardy. He swiftly dropped down beside Megan's stretcher. "Red – you doing okay?" he whispered.

She looked up at him and smiled a little through the oxygen mask. "Hi, Joe…"

"Answer me," he said insistently, "are you all right?"

She nodded, then suddenly pulled off the mask again, and gripped his arm. "Joe – your car – Kirk's the one who shot at you!"

"What?"

"And – he's the one who cut the brake line on President Mitchell's car…"

"HE caused your accident?" Joe felt his blood pressure rising.

"Didn't know it would happen to me…" she whispered, with a small laugh. "It was meant to hurt his uncle…."

"All right, that does it," Joe growled, and stood up. "I'm going after him, and I'm going to find him. Dave? You coming?"

Wahlstrom nodded. "Let's try the parking lot; he probably headed for his car," he suggested. The two spun and darted away.

"Ready to transport," one of the paramedics said then.

"I'm going with her," Frank announced, gripping Megan's hand tightly. He stood, as the medics raised the stretcher onto its wheels. But Megan squeezed his hand hard, shaking her head in negation.

"No – Frank, no! You can't do me any good at the hospital." She smiled wryly. "I'll just call my mom – again. I want you to go after Joe and Dave. Maybe you can help find Kirk." The pallid smile changed to a dark scowl, and she coughed again. "I want him caught and punished."

"We'll follow her there, Frankenstein," Dani offered. "You don't have to worry about her being alone."

"Baby…you're sure?" Frank hesitated, torn. He desperately wanted to be with Megan – but there was an urgent need to capture Kirk Moncrief too, and administer justice.

"I'm sure. Now go. Hurry. I'll see you later."

Frank kissed her quickly, and released her hand. But as he started away, Megan said one more thing:

"…and Frank – if you catch him…do something for me, would you?"

He turned back momentarily, smiling. "Baby, if – no, when – I catch him…I've got a punch in the nose to deliver to Kirk Moncrief – just for you!"

#####

"There's Kirk's car," Dave hissed, pointing at the dusty blue Focus, and dropping to a walk, as he and Joe reached the parking lots.

"I'm surprised it's still here," Joe muttered.

"What do we do now?" Dave asked. "Where do you suppose he went, if he's not using his car?"

Joe shook his head dubiously. "Let's wait a few more minutes," he suggested. "Over there, under the trees." He led the way to the closest side of the parking lot, where a couple of maple trees offered concealment. Dave followed, and the two melted into the shadows.

They were just beginning to wonder if their vigil was in vain, when Dave grabbed Joe's arm and pointed. Kirk Moncrief was hurrying through the parking lot, heading towards his car. A brown backpack was slung over one shoulder, and he was muttering softly to himself.

Joe stepped into the open. "MONCRIEF!" he bellowed.

Kirk whirled, took one look, and dropped his backpack to the asphalt. He turned again, and tore out of the parking lot at a dead run.

Without a word, two of the best runners ever to graduate from Bayport High took off in pursuit. Joe's aches and pains from football practice were forgotten in the heat of the chase. Adrenaline masked Dave's out-of-shape weariness. He outstripped Joe quickly, but Joe knew that his staying power was greater; Dave would have to slow down and rest, after a bit. But for now, he was putting the pressure on Kirk Moncrief very nicely!

Kirk, however, was no slouch as a runner, for all he was short and stocky. Perhaps it was desperation. However, Joe and Dave could see him making the classic mistake of looking back at his pursuers, and it was slowing him down. Kirk was also attempting to lose them by cutting back and forth across the grass. But with two of them chasing him, the maneuver wasn't too effective. Joe grinned maliciously. _We'll catch him soon!_ he thought exultantly.

And just on cue, as the thought crossed his mind, Joe saw Kirk Moncrief look back again, trip, and fall forward to the ground. He didn't stay down, however; he jumped to his feet and whirled around. Desperate to the last, he held his clenched fists at the ready, waiting for Joe and Dave to reach him.

Joe leaped forward. "Give it up, Kirk!" he snapped, in a no-nonsense voice. _This kid can't be serious! I can take him down with one hand tied behind me!_ But Kirk was evidently quite serious. As Joe neared him, the other boy took a swing at him, wild but forceful. Joe ducked to one side, evading the blow with ease. Dave, coming from the other side, grabbed at Kirk's arm, but Kirk shook him off, and lunged at Joe, tackling him to the ground!

Surprised, Joe grunted at the impact. He kneed Kirk in the stomach, but the blow lacked force. Kirk rolled off, rubbing his stomach, but before Joe could grab him, Kirk had rolled again, evading both Joe's clutches and Dave's. He kept rolling, and then stopped, snatching something from the ground. He scrambled to his feet, panting, and swung again.

"LOOK OUT, DAVE!" Joe yelled, for he had glimpsed what Kirk was clutching. But Dave, unused to this sort of hand-to-hand combat, reacted too slowly – and the large rock Kirk held collided solidly with his head. Dave crumpled to the ground, either dazed or unconscious, Joe wasn't sure which, and didn't have time to check! He barely ducked in time to keep from being beaned by the rock himself!

"Kirk, give it up!" he yelled. "Let it go! You're beat, don't you realize that? There are plenty of witnesses who know you're the one behind the fires! The police aren't going to let it rest!"

"No one is going to catch me, and no one is going to stop me!" Moncrief howled, with another frantic swing at Joe's head. Joe jumped back, out of reach – or so he thought! Surprisingly, Kirk lashed out with one foot, caught the younger Hardy in the shin, and knocked his legs out from under him. Joe, with catlike agility, came down rolling – which was a lucky break, for Kirk had tried to stamp on him, and nearly succeeded!

Joe rolled again, and surged to his feet, leaping to avoid Dave's sprawled body. He pulled back his arm and let fly, and this time his fist connected solidly with Kirk's stomach. "That was for the football field!" he taunted Moncrief angrily.

Kirk staggered backwards, dropping his rock. But he found another weapon and snatched it up, this time a long stick which had fallen from one of the nearby trees. He lunged forward, swinging it wildly at Joe!

Joe ducked and scrambled frantically to stay out of the way. Kirk, flailing about with the stick, managed to connect – Joe jerked, and yelled in pain as the makeshift club struck his back. _OW! This guy's like – demon-possessed!_

Joe dove forward and caught Moncrief about the ankles, bringing him crashing to the ground once more. He snatched the stick from Kirk's hand and flung it across the lawn, out of reach. Kirk, managing to free one leg, kicked violently at Joe's face, trying to break Joe's hold on his other ankle.

Joe released him momentarily, ducking back, then scrambled forward again, before Kirk could get to his feet. He doubled up his fist and shot it hard into Kirk's face. "And that's for my Aztek!" he shouted, glaring.

Moncrief was stunned, but still strove to break free. His struggles were weakening, though, and Joe knew that Kirk was no match for him, when it came to this sort of fighting. He clutched Kirk's sweatshirt at the neck, holding him still, then he drew back his other arm once more and sank his fist into Kirk's stomach, causing the other boy to double up in agony. "That's for what you did to your uncle!" he hissed. _I'm just getting warmed up_ , he thought, preparing for another blow. _I can come up with a whole lot more reasons to hit Kirk Moncrief…._

"Joe! Stop!"

Joe held his fist elevated and turned his head, to see Frank running towards them. He looked into his brother's haggard face, and realized just what Frank had gone through in the past hour. He thought of Megan, of her car accident, and remembered her despairing sobs in the emergency room…. Deliberately, Joe turned back to Kirk Moncrief, and slammed his fist home once more, with as much force as he could muster.

"And that's for what you did to Megan – and to Frank."

"Joe – Joe, stop. He's beat. Just look at him." _Even though I told Megan I'd punch him for her – it's not necessary._ Frank leaned to look, bracing one hand on Joe's shoulder. Nearby, Dave Wahlstrom pushed himself to his hands and knees, then staggered shakily to his feet, rubbing his head. He moved to stand beside Frank, glaring down at the fallen Kirk Moncrief.

Joe lifted his hand and blew lightly on his stinging knuckles, then massaged them gently with his other hand. He glanced at Frank and Dave, assuring himself that both of them were all right. And then he looked down at their nemesis, the Bayport Community College arsonist, lying defeated before them…and nodded in satisfaction. They'd won.

Again.


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you to those readers who were kind enough to post commentary. This is the conclusion of the story; I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading it, and apologize if you did not.

 **September Reprise**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 41

A WEDNESDAY IN LATE SEPTEMBER

Fabian Keebler was an idiot. A total idiot. A moron!

Not worth the money the organization had sunk into his training!

 _It's time for us to wash our hands of Fabian Keebler!_

The leader of the organization was a very patient man. He'd waited twenty years to find the daughters of Judge Logan Whittier. One had been under the nominal protection of the Scarpetti clan, of course – _and someone managed to off her anyway!_ he chuckled ironically. He could stand to wait longer, now that he knew where the second daughter was. It wasn't likely that she was going anywhere, after all.

 _The old man might be dead_ , he mused, _but the blood debt hasn't been paid_. And while the leader lived, he was going to make sure that blood debt was paid in full!

He smiled as he leaned forward. _First things first…there are a few holes to plug._

The man reached for the phone on his desk, and dialed.

#####

Frank gingerly tested his now-freed left arm, and winced when the up-and-down movement he was attempting caused some pain. But he decided that in this instance, a little discomfort was okay, since it meant that he was regaining the full use of his arm! To demonstrate, he stretched it slightly again, grimacing at the ache, and then carefully slid it about Megan's shoulders, squeezing gently and smiling at her.

When he'd gone after Kirk Moncrief two days ago, instead of staying with her, he'd worried about her. Worried that she had been hurt worse than Dani and the paramedics thought. Worried that she'd have to spend more time in the hospital. Worried that with this _new_ episode, Carolyn Wright might just forbid her to see him anymore.

He'd been incredibly relieved, when he arrived at the hospital at last, to find that Megan was doing very well, and wouldn't even have to spend the night there. She hadn't been knocked out by the smoke, after all; Kirk had done that – and she hadn't inhaled as much smoke as they'd feared; Jack and Dani had gotten her off the tower quickly. She had responded well to the oxygen treatment she'd been given by the paramedics, and later at the emergency room. And Carolyn had seemed her usual self – and she conceded that this latest visit to the hospital had been _Megan's_ fault, not Frank's!

Now they were seated at their usual lunch table in the Student Center, waiting for Joe and Vanessa to join them. Frank leaned sideways, and very carefully kissed the tip of Megan's healing nose. She smiled, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, looking, in his estimation, absolutely adorable.

They had been chatting, but now Megan was staring down at the table in silence, toying with a spoon. Frank wondered why she had gone so quiet, when she had been so effervescent just a short time before. Was she upset? Sick? Was she feeling badly about Kirk Moncrief, after all?

At last, Megan spoke: "Frank – my mom and I had a talk last night."

"Mmmm?" He waited, wondering what this was leading to. _Probably not Kirk…but probably not anything good, either._

"We talked about everything that's happened, starting weeks ago with the car wreck," she continued, still gazing at the tabletop. "And we talked about other things too. Things that happened months ago. And after we'd talked it all over…." She hesitated.

Frank felt a queer, premonitory sensation beneath his ribcage – definite unease.

"Mom suggested – suggested that perhaps we ought to move away from Bayport," Megan finished. "She thinks it would be safer…for me. For both of us."

 _Move away from Bayport!_ Frank's heart began to thump, hard, and his breathing went ragged. "Move…away?" he whispered, and couldn't go on. How could this be happening? He couldn't lose Megan – he _couldn't!_

Megan still hadn't looked up. "When she said that," she continued, "I could see her point – from her point of view, it seems like a very sensible thing to do."

"But—" Frank couldn't manage more than a single word at a time. His heart was hammering so hard and erratically he wondered if he was having a panic attack. "You're…you're going to—"

Megan finally looked up, a very tender look in her azure eyes. "I told her I could understand where she was coming from – and then I told her that if she wanted to move away from Bayport…that she'd be going alone. I would miss her very much, but…I intended to stay here."

"You…you'd stay?" A vast sense of relief flooded him, even as he realized what a sacrifice this would mean for Megan. She and her mother were very close; since the death of Darrell Wright, they were all each other had. If Carolyn left….

"I'd stay." Megan reached across the table and laid her hand gently on Frank's arm. "And you know what?"

"No…what?" Frank gulped. He wasn't sure how much more he could take, right now.

"Mom said that's what she thought I'd say. She expected it. But she'd felt it necessary to ask, just the same." Suddenly, a dazzling, dimpled smile broke forth on the little redhead's face. "And then she laughed and said 'Well, if that's the way it is…what would you think of having the kitchen remodeled?'!" Megan's rippling laugh cascaded out.

Frank didn't care that they were in the middle of the cafeteria. He wouldn't have cared if they were in the middle of Times Square. He leaped to his feet, moved around the table, and caught Megan up, holding her so tightly that his weak arm protested, and she emitted a little squeak of dismay.

"Don't you ever—" He kissed her. "Ever—" Another kiss. "EVER – scare me like that again, d'you hear me?" Another kiss, this one so fervent that it generated whistles and applause from neighboring tables of lunching students. Frank ignored them, and tried to hold Megan even more closely.

Megan clung to him, eyes closed, a blissful smile on her face. "I love you," she whispered – and received another kiss in response.

More scattered applause. Frank finally released Megan, and they sat down again, close together – both blushing.

"And I love you," he murmured, raising her hand to his lips. She rested her red-gold head against his shoulder with a contented sigh.

"Ahh, they're at it again," a derisive voice cut into their reverie. "What have I told you about these public displays of affection, bro?"

Joe and Vanessa walked up to the table, pulling chairs with them.

"You missed the good part," a boy at a nearby table commented to Joe, laughing. "They're behaving very circumspectly, now!" He got to his feet and left, chuckling.

Joe eyed his brother and Megan dubiously. "I'm beginning to wonder if I should admit being related to you! You're getting a reputation I can't live up to!" he complained, a teasing light in his blue eyes.

"If you can't live up to it, that's not my problem," Frank declared. "And we were just celebrating the fact that all the current mysteries are solved, everybody's healthy again, and Megan has a nice new car." There was no way Frank was going to mention Carolyn's suggestion and Megan's declaration, not right now! Maybe he'd tell Joe later, but…not now.

"All good reasons for a celebration," Vanessa agreed. "Joe, believe me, you can live up to anyone's reputation!"

Joe frowned uncertainly. "Not sure I care for that remark," he muttered, and kissed his girlfriend quickly. "You're right, it's time for a celebration!" He leaned closer and added another kiss, taking a little more time with this one.

Megan and Frank exchanged amused glances. _And they have the nerve to talk about us?_

"Jeez, guys, how about coming up for air?" Dani Tanner chuckled as she slid into a nearby chair and scooted it nearer the table. Close behind her, Jack Wayne followed suit. "You'll get oxygen-deprived, and I'm off duty – I don't do resuscitation when I'm off duty."

All four teens jumped in surprise, and then grinned self-consciously at each other. A chorus of 'Hi's" welcomed the newcomers.

"What are you two doing here?" Joe inquired curiously.

"Closing up things on the fire department end of the case," Dani explained. She smiled guilelessly. "Jack just…came along to keep me company. They found plenty of evidence against Kirk Moncrief. He's not going to be able to get off – even if he ever gets out of the psychiatric hospital he's in now. Which I doubt."

"Well…I'm glad he's going to be getting help," Megan murmured softly. "And I'm glad he's off the streets and can't bother anyone." She sighed in regret. "I just wish someone had been able to help him before he started setting all the fires! He was so desperate…."

Frank shuddered at the memory of Kirk's actions. _Desperate_ was the word for it, all right! Also _demented, demonic, potentially devastating, despicable_ ….

"It's a shame Dr. Mitchell decided to leave, after all the things that happened," Vanessa observed.

"He's just on an extended leave of absence, though," Frank offered. "Joe and I talked to him yesterday. He was pretty upset – he decided that this hit way too close to home – he'd missed all the signs that his nephew was going to do something like this. Even the picture Kirk cut up and dropped, by the first fire site, didn't clue him in. He was so sure that Kirk wouldn't stoop to violence – well, it was out of character for him. I guess something just – snapped. Dr. Mitchell's decided to go back to Connecticut for awhile, and try to reconnect with his family."

"I hope he comes back eventually," Joe remarked. "I really liked him."

The conversation halted briefly while Joe, Vanessa, and Megan went to get sustenance for them all. They returned with several baskets of French fries, among other things, and distributed them about the table.

Frank nibbled on a few, then selected another and fed it to Megan. She accepted it graciously, not bothering to point out that she was holding a handful of her own.

"Have you heard anything about when the buildings are going to be replaced?" Jack asked, dragging fries through a pool of ketchup.

"No telling," Frank replied. "Insurance will pay for rebuilding and repairing them, but I'd be surprised if they're done before we leave school. At least no more campus buildings will be burnt! And the repairs on the bell tower, at least, are pretty minimal. They never even stopped playing the chimes!"

"They'll get the football field back in shape, for next year at least!" Joe put in, his eyes snapping with enthusiasm. "Until then, though," he added with a wry grin, "we'll just have to keep playing on Bayport High's field. It's like being back in high school, only now my team doesn't actually know how to play! Frank, are you positive you don't want to come play quarterback?" he implored.

Frank grinned as he hugged Megan again. "I'm positive. I'll leave the pounding of the gridiron to you, bro. I'm too fond of my bones staying in one piece to tempt some lineman who'd like to set a new record for quarterback sacks! Besides – by next year, I won't be here; this is a two-year school, remember? I'll need to transfer."

Joe scowled. "That's not actually true; you can stay longer just by taking more classes, and you know it!"

Megan smiled as she watched them and listened to their banter, and she leaned closer to Frank, making it easier for him to keep his arm about her.

"Anyone up for a ride?" she asked, when most of the food had been devoured. "I feel like cutting class. Although I'm not sure we could all fit in my car."

"Thanks, but we just dropped in to say 'hi', and we have to be going," Jack excused himself and Dani from the trip. "But you four have fun."

"Sure, Red, I'll go," Joe said with a grin. "Just let me cut off my legs at the knees, so I have some chance of getting in."

"We could tie you to the top," she suggested sweetly.

"You could," Joe agreed, "but I thought the whole idea was to show off the car. If I'm on top, no one will even notice it. After all, what car can compare with the magnificence of Joe Hardy?"

Frank responded to that comment the only way he could: he lobbed a French fry at his brother, and nailed him squarely in the nose!

"Oh, by the way," Frank said conversationally to the others, as Joe muttered protests and dire threats beneath his breath, "Mom heard from Aunt Gertrude again."

"Yeah?" Joe hadn't heard this story yet. He leaned forward with the rest, anxious to hear. "What's up?"

"Cruise." Frank said succinctly.

"Huh? What do you mean, cruise?" Joe's brow furled in confusion.

Frank's broad grin spread across his face. "She asked Mom about the cruise she and Dad went on a few years ago. Get this: Aunt Gertrude is going on a cruise…with a man." He paused for a moment, to let the gasps subside, then sank back, theatrically. "The world is officially ending."

#####

"Well…time to move along." Still slightly pale, and looking as if his head ached beneath the bandage, Michael Ranson escorted Erica towards his car in the hotel parking garage.

"I'm looking forward to Canada," she admitted.

"Erica…remind me of something," Michael requested, as they stowed their bags in the Mercedes' little trunk.

"What?"

Ranson climbed behind the wheel and started the motor. "The next time I get a bright idea about seeing if someone is as good as their reputation says - remind me what happened here in Bayport. Fenton Hardy IS as good at what he does as people say he is. And I'll tell you this: I don't ever want to be on his bad side! Now - let's be on our way."

The End

 **Authors' Notes:** We would like to extend MUCHO THANKS to Jenn 'Sparks' Hart, for her timely advice and the information she provided. Dani Tanner and crew are much more 'real' because of Jenn!

I know a few of you will ask for explanations of Michael and Erica Ranson, and the mysterious scene at the beginning of this final chapter. I apologize: when this was first written, we had every intention of pursuing these threads and putting them in another story. When we had about six chapters written, difficulties caused us to not go any further, and we abandoned it.

Just to share what we know – or envisioned – I will say that Michael Ranson is a shrewd, tough, opportunistic businessman with prickly edges, but he's not a criminal. His wife Erica comes from a 'mob family' background, but she and Michael have distanced themselves from her family for the most part – although occasionally they will use the relationship, as in requesting Ethan's help. She is also a nice person, if a bit naïve and sheltered, as well as being quite a bit younger than her husband.

There is a certain person or group who for varying reasons holds grudges against her family, and against the daughters of Judge Logan Whittier – Laura Hardy's and Linda Scarpetti's father. However, that story, as I said, was never written, and unless one of you undertakes it, never will be.


End file.
